


Fantasies

by YellowFlannelFrog



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Cute, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Music, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29816799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowFlannelFrog/pseuds/YellowFlannelFrog
Summary: A post Love Never Dies fic. Spoilers for Love Never Dies.Erik and Raoul decide to raise Gustave together and their relationship develops really slowly. Fluff. This fanfiction is really long. Lots of pining and whatever. I find chapters annoying so I've decided to post this in one document. Sorry to anyone who thought this would be a fast read.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a bunch of separate scenes on a google doc. The lines I used to separate the scenes didn't translate when I copy-pasted this over. I also left this fic for a while, so some of the scenes may end kind of weirdly.

Christine’s body was heavy in Raoul’s arms. He smoothed back a lock of hair from her forehead as a tear ran down his cheek. He felt rather than saw as his son, or rather the boy he had raised as a son, sat down beside him and buried his face in Raoul’s chest. Raoul rested his chin on Gustave’s head and stared at the other man. The Phantom. Erik. Erik was watching him back, silent, also crying. Unmasked, he was just as ugly as Raoul remembered from ten years ago and his skull like countenance seemed a cruel irony. Erik, Gustave’s true father. Who Raoul had promised to leave alone. Well, he couldn’t now. He couldn’t lose a son as well as a wife, and he believed that Gustave wouldn’t want to leave him either. Not now. He glared into those yellow eyes, and Erik looked away. Despite how much it hurt, Raoul stood up and approached him. Erik stood up to meet him. 

“She’d want to be buried in Perros,” he said quietly. “With her father.”

Erik nodded, looking past him. Raoul felt a surge of desperation. 

“I can’t leave him,” he croaked, nearly begging. “Not now. You have to understand that. I’ve raised him for ten years, I can care for him, I can-”

“I understand,” Erik whispered sharply. He buried his face in his hands. “But he’s all I have left of Christine.”

Raoul felt a surge of anger. Gustave was all he had left of Christine too! He glanced over his shoulder at the boy. He couldn’t fight Erik, not now, as much as he wanted to strangle him. Gustave couldn’t lose another parent today. 

“I can pay off your debts. I have enough money to provide for a family for at least a year.” Erik watched Raoul. They seemed to be thinking the same thing. 

“Can you cook?”

“A little.”

“That’s enough.” Raoul stuck out his hand. “I can find a respectable job.”

“I can work. I’ve been an architect before.”

“I have a better public face. But maybe a contract here or there.”

Erik grimaced, but clasped Raoul’s hand. “It’s a deal then. We raise him together.”

It was the first time either had said the idea aloud, and the absurdity of it gave them pause. Raoul cleared his throat awkwardly and pulled his hand away. “Joint guardians.”

“Joint guardians.”

The agreement made, they returned to the body of Christine to mourn their loss. 

The funeral was a small ordeal, mostly because Raoul wanted to avoid the strange questions that would arise from another man mourning the loss of his wife. After the coffin was laid in the earth Erik sang a lament so heart wrenching that the tears Raoul had been trying to hold in poured down his face anyway. Gustave sang for his mother too. Raoul felt suddenly out of place. He awkwardly placed his offering, a red scarf like the one he’d rescued for Christine as a child on the grave and stood back. Gustave’s small hand wound itself around his and Raoul reminded himself that he was still, in a way, the child’s father. Eventually, they turned to leave. It was a strange feeling, walking in broad daylight beside a man he’d once chased into the very chapel where the funeral had been held. 

“Father,” Gustave asked as they walked. “Why did you leave a red scarf?”

“When your mother was little,” Raoul said, voice catching, “she had a red scarf just like it. One day, when playing by the sea, the wind blew it into the waves. I ran out into the surf to fetch it for her. When I got out, wet and cold, my nanny was furious but Christine was so delighted. That’s how we became friends.”

Raoul was aware of Erik listening as he talked. Somehow relieved by the telling of the story he began to tell more stories of the young children he and Christine had been. 

“Those hills,” he said, pointing. “You see those hills? Mr. Daae used to tell us that fairies would come and dance on those hills at night. We used to sneak out of bed to try and spot them.”

“And did you?”

“Your mother did, but I was never so lucky.”

Gustave’s gaze lingered on the hills as they passed. “Do the fairies still dance on the hills?”

“Oh, probably.”

Gustave stared at the hills, and Raoul could see him trying not to beg to be allowed to stay up and wait for the fairies. Instead he asked, “What else did you and mother do?”

“Oh,” said Raoul. “So much. We used to go around and beg for stories. Most people beg for money, but not your mother and I. We wanted whatever stories people had for us.” 

“Will you tell them to me?” asked Gustave as he climbed into the carriage that would take them back to the hotel.

“Of course.” Erik was sitting silently beside Gustave. Raoul glanced at his masked face, and, almost without thinking, said, “This story is one that Christine’s father would tell us. There was a king who sat in a boat in the middle of a large still lake…”

There were some things Erik hated to admit, and that he was jealous of Raoul was one of them. He pretended it was just hate. It was really easy to be jealous, to overlook the lost or sad expression that sometimes crept into Raoul’s eyes, to pretend that Christine’s death had not impacted Raoul. Sometimes Erik forgot all about how bad Raoul’s life had gotten because all he could see was the man who had gotten to marry Christine, who had a son, who people admired as he walked down the street. The man who, when he walked outdoors, walked like he belonged. Erik had never felt like he belonged. The only people he felt like he belonged around were Christine and Gustave. And to some extent Daroga, Madame Giry, and Meg. But they were out of his life now. He had to keep reminding himself, jealously, that Gustave was his son, that Christine had loved him. Could he really be blamed if he jealously guarded the life he had inside the house as Gustave’s father, and sometimes tried to make Raoul the one who felt out of place? Raoul. With his stupid blond hair. He had a head full of hair. Erik had, like, three pieces of hair on his entire head and had only ever considered what he would look like with a moustache or sideburns when he was drunk. And those three pieces of hair were scraggly and wiry and gross. Raoul’s hair looked actually soft, or at least smooth, although Erik didn’t know if it really was because he’d never touched it. He sometimes thought about touching it, especially when Raoul was reading and kept pushing his bangs out of his eyes and they kept falling back and he still didn’t change his position. Raoul could walk like he belonged. When he was happy he took up space. Like something shiny. Erik took up space like a black hole. Raoul also had a nose. Erik was jealous of his nose. Erik was pretty much jealous of all of Raoul’s face. He was pretty. He had nice lips, and a lively complexion, and a smile that didn’t make people run away, and a fricking nose. Raoul could pick his nose and could still look relatively dignified. If Erik tried to pick his nose it looked like he was trying to scoop his brains out with his finger. To add to all that, he was muscular. Not like, super duper strong muscular, but muscular enough to fill out his clothes. Muscular enough that he was not a flat, thin skeleton. Erik knew he sometimes made Raoul nervous when he stared at him, like Raoul could feel the hate in Erik’s gaze boring into his skin. Erik did it to annoy him: stare at Raoul until Raoul looked up and then look away and pretend he wasn’t doing anything. 

Raoul had a problem. He’d had a problem for a long time, but Christine’s death had exacerbated it. Drinking and gambling. That had been his solution last time. His solution to deal with the trauma of the whole ‘phantom of the opera’ incident. He couldn’t do that now. Not again. He would not be responsible for tearing his family apart more than it already was. But it was hard, it was so hard. The pain was terrible, and all he wanted was either a rush to blot it out or the fog of alcohol to hide behind and smother it. Anything was better than being so painfully broken. The solution, the temporary, stupid, broken, solution was presented to him accidentally. Perhaps he’d always known it would be the solution he’d run to, after all, he wanted to blame Erik for all his troubles anyway so fighting with Erik was inevitable. And fighting Erik gave him that rush of adrenaline, gave him somewhere to funnel all the anger and hurt. When he fought Erik all he could focus on was the flight or fight response initiated in his system, because Erik was dangerous, and that humming in his veins prevented him from having to face being broken. The problem was, he sought for fights more than he should have been. Raoul knew it was bad. He knew Gustave hated the sound of their shouting, how Erik’s voice would thunder and shake, how Raoul’s voice would scream back, like a ship being blown apart in a storm, and he desperately wanted to soothe Gustave’s pain but he didn’t know how because he couldn’t even face his own. 

Gustave had been put to bed. Raoul wandered into the cellar feeling sad and lost. Almost without thinking he grabbed a bottle of wine and headed for the kitchen to grab a glass. He clumped up the stairs. Once in the kitchen, he grabbed a glass, popped the cork off the wine, and poured himself a full glass. He was raising it to his lips when a hand snatched it away. Raoul glared into Erik’s angry expression.

“I was going to drink that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Raoul scowled, then grabbed another glass. Erik pulled the bottle along the counter and away from Raoul. Raoul glared at him, then lunged for the bottle. Erik dropped glass and bottle onto the counter, and, faster than Raoul could think, had spun him back against the wall. Raoul surged forward, but Erik brought his forearm up to Raoul’s collarbone and held him there. Both men were breathing audibly. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Raoul growled.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then let me go!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Using his other hand, Erik pried the glass Raoul was still holding from his grip. “Because I will not let an alcoholic raise my son.”

“Your son?”

Erik pushed his face so far into Raoul’s personal space so that, if Erik had had a proper nose, their noses would have been touching. 

“Yes. My son.”

“I was just going to have one drink,” Raoul pleaded. Though not an expert on reading Erik’s facial expressions, he was pretty sure the sepulcherous face raised its eyebrows. 

“One drink,” Raoul pressed. “Just one drink, to ease the sorrow.”

“Is this like the ‘one drinks’ to ease the sorrow of you falling into debt?”

The remark stung, and Raoul lunged forward against Erik’s arm to try and bite him. Erik raised his arm slightly and Raoul fell back, choking. 

“No more drinking,” said Erik softly. “Gustave won’t have more sorrow in his life than we can prevent.”

“If I can’t drink,” Raoul gasped, “then you have to give up your lasso. An alcoholic would be a bad example for him, but a murderer is much worse.”

Erik’s eyes flashed, but he dropped his arm and stepped away. “Fine.” 

“Good.”

“Wonderful.”

“Brilliant!”

Erik rolled his arms back and struck a pose of hilarious exaggeration. “Superb!”

Raoul rolled his eyes and reached for another glass. Erik tensed, ready to spring. “I’m grabbing a drink of water,” Raoul leveled him with a sneer. “Relax.” 

Erik stayed tense until Raoul had pointedly drunk the entire glass of water. Then he grabbed one and downed it too. 

“I just wish you hadn’t grabbed this bottle,” he sighed. “This was good quality wine.”

“Oops.”

Erik made a motion with his head that spoke of him rolling his eyes. Raoul smiled. This slight victory was still a victory, even if neither of them had won anything. 

Neither of them knew exactly who had suggested the idea. It had just sort of sprung into existence from mutual dislike. Erik and Raoul had found themselves in the cellar, in the cellar with the person they hated more than anything, and it had resulted in the idea of sparring. They both knew Gustave was not a fan of them fighting, and during the day they each wanted to make him as happy as possible, but it was hard when they were snapping at each other's necks. Sparring provided a solution. 

“Let’s settle this,” Raoul growled. “Here. Now.”

“Little Vicomte,” Erik snarled, popping his knuckles by his sides menacingly, “I’ve been waiting for years.” 

“No foul play,” Raoul insisted. 

Erik rolled his eyes, then lunged at Raoul. Raoul barely managed to block his attack. “It’s all foul play.”

“No lasso.”

“Fine!” Erik held up his hands. “I don’t need it! I can beat a pathetic thing like you while blindfolded.”

“Maniac.”

Erik shrugged. “Come on, monsieur. Fight me,” he beckoned Raoul forward with one finger.

Raoul swung a fist at his head. Erik blocked it, chopping between Raoul’s ribs with the other hand. Raoul fell back, coughing. 

“Pathetic.” Erik advanced on him. 

Raoul ducked to the side and they began to circle each other. 

“If this was a duel, you’d be dead,” Raoul growled, heart racing.

“Don’t flatter yourself. If this was a duel I’d have killed you when your back was turned.” Erik paused for a second, then added viciously, “And no one would be that upset really. People watch duels for the scandal.”

Erik feigned an attack and hit Raoul’s jaw. Raoul grabbed Erik’s shirt and used his foot to sweep the legs out from under the other man, throwing him to the floor. Erik spun onto his front, and as Raoul tried to get on top of him he brought his head back, knocking Raoul in the nose. Raoul stumbled back and Erik sprung up, bringing his arm around Raoul’s neck and choking him. Raoul struggled, but Erik didn’t let go. Raoul began to panic. Erik knew how to fight. He would have to surprise him. What would surprise him? Raoul shrunk his head into his shoulders, trying to make it easier to breathe. His chin was tucked into Erik’s elbow. He agled it down and bit Erik as hard as he could. Erik released him in shock, letting out a yelp as he did so and grabbing his arm. Raoul spat the taste of sleeve from his mouth, spun around, and jammed his fingers at Erik’s eyes. Erik cried out in pain and crumpled over. 

“Hands at the level of your eyes!” Raoul half shouted half choked out triumphantly. 

Erik was swearing, not all swear words that Raoul understood. He was definitely drawing from his knowledge of other languages. Erik tried to lunge at him, tears streaming down his cheeks and Raoul grabbed his head, forcing him back. Erik swiped at him with his arms. His arms were longer than Raoul’s and he managed to grab some of Raoul’s shirt. A seam in Raoul’s shirt protested as Erik dragged him closer so that they were nose to nose. Raoul wasn’t sure if Erik could actually see him, but his hands fisted around Raoul’s shirt was threat enough. 

“I will-” he hissed, but Raoul interrupted him. 

“I win,” Raoul pushed Erik’s chin up towards the ceiling, painfully so. 

“You’re a fool,” Erik spat.

“Say it!” 

Erik tried to punch him and Raoul grabbed his wrist. “Say it!” He yelled, twisting Erik’s wrist painfully. 

“You win,” Erik growled, so quietly that Raoul barely heard it. The words had a dangerous undercurrent to them. “For now.”

Raoul released him and Erik slithered back into the shadows. His eyes, slits, glinted at Raoul malevolently. 

“Tomorrow you won’t be so lucky,” Erik’s voice followed Raoul out of the cellar. 

They never did kill each other, or do serious harm. After that first match Erik won the next few. They fought every night. After a few days Erik began to correct Raoul’s technique in the form of shouting insults at him. He couldn’t help it. It was more exhilarating to fight an opponent who knew what he was doing. 

It was hard to get used to a new presence in an old house, but it distracted from the hole that would otherwise have consumed them. Gustave cried a lot, those first weeks without Christine. Raoul paid more attention to him than he had before, and Erik tried his hardest. Sometimes Gustave wanted to blame Erik for what had happened, but his heart wasn’t in it. And he found Erik interesting. Erik could make things talk by using ventriloquism, something which fascinated Gustave to no end. He was also a very skilled music teacher. He wasn’t the best cook though. It would come with practice. And his fathers fought over the smallest things and the largest things. Like whether he should attend school. Erik thought he didn’t need school, after all he hadn’t had any. Raoul pointed out that Erik wasn’t exactly a great role model and that Gustave had already attended years of school, and that it would help him get a job. Erik argued he’s gotten a job without school. Raoul argued that Erik wasn’t respectable. 

“I’m his father!” bellowed Erik. “This decision is mine to make!”

“You!” shrieked Raoul. “His father! Well then where were you the ten years that I was raising him? Where were you then?”

“I didn’t know Christine was pregnant!”

“Bull-shit! You knew it could happen, you knew-”

“I didn’t know if she’d stay!” Erik howled.

“Didn’t know if she’d stay!” Raoul mocked, spreading his arms as if to include a large crowd in on a joke. “She loved you! She loved you more than she ever loved me and you… you what? Had a one night stand with her and ran off?”

Erik slammed Raoul back against a wall, hands flickering between strangling Raoul or grabbing his collar. He settled on grabbing his collar, for Gustave’s sake.

“You don’t- you can’t-,” Erik’s eyes were blazing and his breathing was unsteady. “I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t.”

“Then why did you?” yelled Raoul.

“Because I was afraid she would leave me alone and bruised and unloved just like everyone else!”

Erik pushed Raoul even further into the wall then let go, turning from him, his shoulders heaving. 

“She would have stayed!” Raoul growled, unrelenting. “She came back to me only because you left her. She was never happy with me, no matter how I tried! Do you know what it is like to love someone who you know will never love you the same way you do her? How depressing it can be?”

Raoul was almost begging now, years of feeling hopeless and useless all pooling out of him in a big mess. Erik turned to him. “Yes,” he whispered. “I thought I did.”

Raoul took a second to register Erik’s response. Then he howled in rage and dove at Erik, swinging his fists. Erik blocked his fists and caught him with a punch to the jaw that sent Raoul staggering backwards. 

“You’re a vile, ugly, conceited-” 

“Come on then, monsieur, I’ve been waiting for this for years-”

“WILL YOU TWO STOP FIGHTING????”

Both Erik and Raoul froze and turned to face the doorway. Gustave stood there, quivering in rage, his eyes shining. 

“All you ever do is fight!” he screamed. “And I’m tired of it! You just want to beat each other up but I JUST WANT A FAMILY! And right now you’re both being terrible, so can you please just agree that both of you are horrible dads and get on with looking after me?”

Gustave’s lower lip quivered and tears ran from his eyes. Erik and Raoul stood speechless. Gustave gave them both a scathing look. “I hate you,” he seethed as he turned and stormed away.

Raoul and Erik stared after him. Raoul rubbed a hand over his scalp. 

“What have we done?” whispered Erik.

“I don’t know.”

“How do we fix this?”

“I don’t-,” Raoul took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Okay?”

Erik rubbed his face in his hands. “God, I’m a hopeless parent.”

“Well apparently we’re both hopeless parents.”

Erik choked out a laugh that was strangled by a sob. “I don’t know what to do here.”

Raoul sucked at his cheek. “I think we have to agree to put aside our petty problems, stop fighting and put Gustave first. Can you do that?”

Erik glanced at him. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good. I can too. Let’s tell Gustave that.”

They approached Gustave’s room side by side. Raoul knocked on the closed door. “Gustave?” he called. “You father and I have talked it out. You’re right. We’ve been self-centered and have decided moving forward to put being a family first.”

There was silence from behind the door and then finally Gustave’s voice, “Is Papa with you?”

“Yes,” said Erik. “I’m truly sorry for being a terrible parent, Gustave. You are more important than anything.”

There was another bout of silence and then they heard Gustave shuffle across the room. He opened the door. His eyes were red and he stared up at them. “Do you promise?”

“Promise,” chorused Erik and Raoul.

Gustave’s face contorted and he hugged his fathers, starting to cry again. Erik and Raoul wrapped their arms around him. After a long hug Gustave pulled back. 

“Now make dinner,” he instructed. “I’m hungry.”

Erik had heard something and it had woken him up. He silently got out of bed and pulled on a dressing robe, reaching as he did so for the lasso he had hidden in the side table. He opened the door and headed down the hall following the sound. There was a light on in the kitchen and at the table was Raoul, crying. He had a bottle open in front of him and a glass, so he’d obviously been drinking, but why wasn’t clear. 

“I thought I warned you to stop drinking.”

Raoul sat up at the sound of Erik’s voice, nearly toppling backwards in his chair. “Oh,” his brow furled in disgust. “It’s you.”

Erik stepped out of the shadows of the doorway and sat himself across from Raoul, pulling the liquor towards him. Raoul ran a hand over his face, stifling a sob. Erik watched him. Finally he brought himself to say, “Why are you drinking?”

Raoul just shook his head and buried it in his arms. Erik huffed through his nostrils. Erik was about to ask him again, a little less gently, when Raoul mumbled, “I dreamed I lost Gustave.”

He then burst into tears again. “I watched him die, Erik, and I couldn’t do anything! Why can I never do anything? Why’m I so useless? Why can’t I save them?”

Snot and tears were running down his face. Erik pushed back, disgusted. Raoul was staring at him beseechingly, like he expected Erik to have some answer. Erik was very tempted to yell back that Raoul was a hopeless sop, but hesitated. It had been his own blindness that had led to Christine’s death. 

“I don’t know,” he said heavily. “I guess we’re just blind, dumb idiots.”

Raoul nodded sadly, and Erik wanted to scream at him. He should have argued, defended himself, something. They weren’t supposed to get along. He was supposed to argue that they could be good people. But Raoul didn’t, and Erik felt hopelessness sweep over him like it had Raoul. He couldn’t delude himself into believing he was good. 

Raoul was staring into his cup. Erik passed him the liquor and Raoul looked up, startled. 

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink.”

“I’m a terrible person. It really isn’t my place to tell you to be a better one.”

Raoul thought about this. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Maybe it is, though. Maybe we have to get better by improving each other.”

“That sounds like bullshit.”

Raoul shrugged. “Only if you let it be.”

Erik studied him. He had a point. Erik felt a tiny stirring of hope. “Okay, so we improve each other.”

“Yup,” said Raoul, giving him a sad smile. “That’s what family does. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” echoed Erik, raising the bottle. Neither of them drank. They sat in silence. Eventually Erik asked, “Do you want to check on Gustave?”

“Yes,” Raoul pushed his chair back with a screech. “Then I’d better go back to bed. You should too. God knows what we’ll be like if we don’t sleep.”

They headed down the hall to Gustave’s room. Peering inside it they could just make out his sleeping form, the chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Raoul closed the door softly. “He’s safe,” he said. 

Erik nodded, and they split off to go back to their separate rooms. Once he had shut the door Erik lay in bed for a while, pondering his choices and how lucky he had become to have a family.

“I’m gonna get you!” Raoul rumbled, clomping around the living room. Gustave laughed, and jumped from a chair to a couch to avoid Raoul’s slow-swinging arms. 

“RRRR,” growled Raoul. “You won’t be able to run for ever!” 

Gustave stuck out his tongue at his father, then slid over the back of the couch with a squeak when Raoul tried to grab him. 

“You’re on the lava Gustave! You’re burning up!”

“I’m standing on a rock!” Gustave called back. “I’m jumping between rocks!”

They had to holler to be heard because Erik was playing the piano, also in the living room, and was trying to not get distracted by the noise. 

“Hey! Opera Ghost! You going to play some chase scene music?” Raoul hollered at Erik. Erik ignored him and played piano louder. Raoul rolled his eyes and went back to lumbering after Gustave, who jumped between places on the floor as if there were invisible platforms. Gustave ducked the first few of Raoul’s attempted grabs. He turned and wagged his hands by his ears. Raoul smiled wickedly and lunged at Gustave, too quick for a lava monster. Gustave yelped as he was tackled to the floor. Then Raoul started tickling him. Gustave shrieked with laughter and attempted to roll away, banging into the piano stool as he did so. 

“That’s it!” bellowed Erik, standing up. “I’ve had enough! Go fool around in some other room!”

Gustave quieted under his papa’s intimidating gaze. Raoul felt cowed as well, but then he looked at Gustave and realized he couldn’t let Erik get away with it. No. Fun was more important. Raoul stood up, straightened his shirt, then, as Erik huffed and turned back to the piano, lunged at him and grabbed the other man under the armpits. He attempted to tickle him. Erik shrieked like a little kitten and pulled his legs up to his chest. Suddenly burdened with the whole of Erik’s weight Raoul buckled forward. Instead of leaving Erik in his protective ball, Raoul tickled his back. Erik flailed around and Raoul got a knee over his stomach, pinning him down and preventing him from curling back up. Gustave saw what Raoul was doing, and, face breaking into a smile he joined his father in tickling Erik. Erik flailed his arms, squirming like an eel. He tried to push Raoul off, but laughter weakened his arms making his shoves more like floppy pushes. Because Erik was laughing. His laughter was high pitched and sounded a bit like shrieking. 

“I can’t-,” Erik gasped, “I can’t breath!” 

Gustave and Raoul stopped tickling him, and Raoul got off of his chest. Erik lay on his back, relaxing into the carpet. Then he hiccoughed, which caused him to tense up again. 

“Oh god,” moaned Erik, throwing an arm over his face. Then he hiccoughed again. Gustave scooted next to him. 

“You’re ticklish just like me, Papa.”

Erik moved his arm to peer at his son. “Are you sure? Maybe you inherited it from your mother.”

“Christine wasn’t ticklish,” Raoul said.

Erik grunted noncommittally. Raoul looked at his watch. 

“Well Gustave, it’s a good thing we tired your Papa out. It’s bedtime.”

Gustave groaned. Raoul ruffled his hair. “I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

Gustave brightened and leaned over to kiss his Papa on the forehead, then went over to Raoul to kiss his cheek and went to brush his teeth. Erik edged himself into a seated position. Raoul glanced at him, trying to contain a smile and Erik growled, “No” and then hiccoughed. 

“No,” Erik mumbled. He stood up. “I need to go to bed.”

“You say that now, but you’re going to listen to Gustave’s bedtime story. Like always.”

Erik hiccoughed. Raoul stood up and poked him in the back, to which Erik whipped around. Raoul smiled at him coyly and headed to the kitchen to get a drink of water. 

Erik was washing the dishes. It was his night to do it. He and Raoul took turns. It had taken them a while to get used to living in the same household, but now when Erik walked into a room Raoul no longer started at the sight of Erik’s face. There was a footstep behind him and then Gustave’s face popped around Erik’s side. 

“What is it Gustave?”

“Why don’t I look like you at all?”

“You have a skeleton, don’t you?”

“But Father looks like his father. I’ve seen photos. So why don’t I look like you?”

“Gustave, be glad you look like your mother.”

Gustave was silent for a moment, then asked, “If I have children will they look like you?”

Erik dropped the plate he was holding. It shattered on the floor with a crash. Gustave jumped back, scared and stared up at Erik. Something in Erik’s expression made him back away. Erik bent down automatically and tried to clean the plate with shaking hands. 

“Papa…?”

Erik bit his lip, hard. A piece of the broken plate slid out of his fingers, cutting him, and he swore. There was a throbbing in his head, a scream building in his throat. He barely heard Raoul’s heavy tread enter the room or Gustave running to him saying, “Father…?” or Raoul’s response, “You haven’t done anything, Gustave. Let me talk to your Papa. Go practice your violin.”

Erik fumbled with more pieces of broken plate. His eyes were hot. Raoul’s sure hands gripped his wrists, and Erik realized that his hands were bleeding from multiple small scratches. 

“I’ve cursed him, Raoul,” Erik gasped. “I’ve cursed him! He shouldn’t have to deal with- I’m a terrible parent, terrible! - What if I’ve ruined him? What if his children end up like me? What if he hates them?”

He clenched his shaking hands around Raoul’s sleeves. Raoul gripped Erik’s biceps, forcing his face up to meet Raoul’s blazing gaze. 

“Then,” said Raoul forcefully, “he will love them anyway. This is Gustave! Christine’s son! Our son! And he knows better than that!”

“I should never-”

“The world would be a lot better if you hadn’t done a lot of things Erik,” Raoul said icily. “But,” he continued a little more gently, gripping Erik’s arms tighter, “fathering Gustave is not, and never will be, one of them.” 

Erik sobbed and let his head fall onto Raoul’s chest. Raoul gave him a stiff pat. “Go clean up your hands. I’ll deal with this plate.”

Erik finished bandaging his hands and opened the bathroom door to find Gustave there, red nosed and nervous. 

“You don’t hate me, do you Papa?”

Erik pulled him into a hug. “Of course not. I was just worried that… well…”

“Father told me.” Gustave pulled away and looked Erik straight in the eye. “He said you were worried that if my children look like you that I’d hate you, but I won’t! I’m going to love them so much that they, um, that they… that they get all the love in the world!”

Erik found himself crying again. 

The day was a cold one. Snow covered the ground, enough to come up to above the ankles. Raoul, Erik, and Gustave were visiting Christine’s grave again. They were all wrapped up in winter clothes. In a mask, scarf, and hat it was quite difficult to see that Erik had a facial deformity, especially because almost none of his face could be seen. Raoul bent down and brushed the snow off of Christine’s gravestone. Gustave drew a heart in the snow because it was too cold to bring flowers. Erik stood silently by, a looming shadowy shape. Raoul and Gustave stood back near him. Gustave sniffled a little. Raoul closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. He felt the sadness coming back to him. Behind him, Erik started to sing, a soft lamenting melody. It was the Air of Lazarus, what he had played for Christine at her father’s grave all those years ago. All those years ago, when Erik had been nothing more than a voice and Raoul had been determined to prove he was more, that he was a deceitful, villainous man. And look how that had turned out for him. If I had never heard Erik’s voice, thought Raoul, then it is possible that none of this would have happened. But it was also possible things would have turned out worse. The last notes of Erik’s song trailed away into the air, and Raoul was suddenly overcome with the urge to get rid of Erik just as easily, to chase after him just like he had before only this time chase him away. 

“Run,” he growled at Erik.

Erik looked at him, startled, and seeing that Raoul meant business turned and sprinted toward the chapel. His cloak billowed out behind him making him look like a deranged bat thing. Raoul sprinted after him, nearly tripping in the snow. Just like before, Raoul was faster and grabbed Erik’s cloak and yanked it. Erik jerked backwards, nearly tumbling into Raoul before righting himself and turning to face him. Raoul glared into Erik’s yellow eyes as their breath fogged between them. Erik glared back. A hundred different urges welled up in Raoul and indecision kept him from acting on any of them. Most of them involved bodily harm. 

“I hate you,” he spat at Erik. Then he turned and headed back towards Gustave. 

Something hit him in the back of the head. Raoul spun around. Erik was standing innocently enough. Raoul reached back and plucked snow from between the collar of his cloak and his hat. 

“Oh, you’re asking for it!”

“Not among the graves, you fool.” Erik strode past him as Raoul bent to make a snowball of his own. “Come on Gustave. What do you say we give your father a good trouncing?”

Erik shot a smirk back at Raoul which Raoul couldn’t see because of his scarf and led Gustave out of the graveyard and towards the hills behind it. Raoul hurried after them. Erik hit him with a shot in the forehead, blinding him. Raoul cried out and fell backward, landing on his back. He wiped the snow from his eyes to see Erik readying another snowball, Gustave not far behind. Raoul quickly picked up a patch of the snow crushed beneath him when he fell and hurled it at Erik. It caught Erik in the face. Erik dropped the snowball he was holding and reached his hands up to the eyeholes of his mask, which were now filled in with snow. Gustave hit Raoul with a snowball to the thigh and he tossed one back at Gustave, a lot more gently than he’d heaved the snow chunk at Erik. Gustave pelted him with snowballs, trying to stop his approach but it was futile and Raoul picked him up and dumped him in a snowbank. 

“I’ve got you now, Gustave!” Raoul crowed and tried to tickle Gustave through his many layers of clothing. 

“Nooo,” Gustave laughed, rolling to the side. 

A sudden cold down his back made Raoul rear up. “Agh!” he yelled. Erik backed away from where he’d just shoved a bunch of snow down the back of Raoul’s coat. 

“I’ll get you for that!” hollered Raoul, chasing Erik over the snow covered hill. He inevitably caught up to him. Erik tried to ram a handful of snow into his face, but Raoul blocked it and grabbed the front of Erik’s cloak. His balance was offset by a shove to the back which sent Raoul careening into Erik and Erik lost his balance and they began to tumble down the hill. The world was a dizzying circle of white and grey, white and grey as they rolled down the hill, both screaming. They’re limbs and heads knocked together, disorienting them further. When Raoul and Erik finally rolled to a stop they lay dazed. 

“Oh god, my head,” moaned Raoul.

“What the hell...?” muttered Erik.

“I got you both!” called Gustave from the top of the hill. He skidded down, alternately on his feet and on his butt. “I got you both good!”

“Yes you did, Gustave,” Raoul sighed. 

Gustave grinned broadly at them, waiting for them to get up again. Raoul and Erik realized that they were rather entangled. Erik had ended up on top of Raoul, and their cloaks were wound around their bodies like a cocoon pulling them tightly together. Suddenly conscious of this fact, both men became uncomfortable. 

“Can you get off me?” Raoul attempted to shove Erik off, but it didn’t work very well as one arm was sandwiched painfully between them and the other was caught in a cloak. 

“I’m trying,” Erik replied tersly. He tugged his arms free and attempted to hoist himself up. The movement pulled on Raoul’s cloak and dug the collar painfully into his neck. 

“Stop stop stop!” gasped Raoul.

Erik lowered himself slightly. “Can you undo my cloak?”

“What?”

“With your free hand, the one digging painfully into my sternum. Can you unbutton my cloak?”

Raoul reached up and tried to undo the top button of Erik’s cloak. Erik’s scarf kept falling in Raoul’s face making it hard to see. 

“God, I give up.”

Erik sighed, then arched his back up and slid his arms into the cavity between their bodies, pressing his forehead into Raoul’s shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” asked Raoul, somewhat aghast.

“I’m trying to undo my cloak, what do you think?”

Raoul scowled and turned his face away. Erik’s legs, forehead and elbows were digging into him as Erik tried to balance himself. Having Erik unbutton a cloak while on top of him was probably the most disconcerting experience of Raoul’s life. He flushed and tried not to focus on feeling as Erik’s arms moved downward from button to button. 

“There,” said Erik at last. 

“Good,” said Raoul hoping it was over. It wasn’t. Erik lay flat on him again to pull the cloak off of himself, then sat up. His butt dug into Raoul’s stomach and Raoul gasped. Erik shook his head at him and bent over to remove his legs from the mess of cloaks. Then he stood up. Raoul slowly followed suit, giving Erik’s cloak a kick when he got it off his legs for good measure. 

“Let’s go home,” Raoul said stonily.

Gustave groaned. “But we were having so much fun!”

“‘Were’ being the operative word.”

“Fatherrrrrr…”

“I said we’re going home, Gustave.”

“Not even one more minute?”

Raoul looked at his son, who was staring back at him earnestly begging with his eyes. Raoul felt bad. How many times had Gustave looked at him like that and he had ignored it?

“Okay, one more minute.”

Gustave cheered and bent to make more snowballs. Erik and Raoul avoided each other like the plague and let far flung snowballs be the only means of communication between them.

A travelling circus had come to town. Gustave had been told about it by his friends and invited to go. He was a little scared, but still filled with a morbid curiosity. Erik appeared disinterested when Gustave had mentioned it, but Raoul was pretty sure he was feigning it. Erik’s demeanor seemed too lax. Like slick oil, or gunpowder. When Gustave said they could come too, Erik’s assent seemed too lightly surprised. The day they went was hot and bright, but Erik still wore his dark hat, mask, and cloak. Raoul didn’t know how Erik wasn’t overheating. Maybe he was cold blooded. Erik prowled the fairground like a panther, hooded eyes boring into every little detail that the usual passerby might overlook. The only thing both Raoul and Erik had told Gustave to avoid was the Hall of Mirrors, a long caravan with no windows filled with narrow corridors edged by different types of mirrors on every side. Neither of them liked the thought of it, for their own reasons. When they’d gotten home, Raoul knew it wasn’t over. Erik was too quiet, too normal. After Gustave had been put to bed he waited in his room with his clothes on. Sure enough, he heard the barest tread in the hall as Erik left the house. Raoul followed him, catching up to him outside. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Erik glanced back at him, yellow eyes glowing in the dark. “Go back, Chagny, this does not concern you.”

“Yes, it does. You could put Gustave in jeopardy. What are you doing, Erik?”

Erik swept on towards the fairground. Raoul followed him. Erik tisked irritably, and tried to trip Raoul. He pinned Raoul to the ground. 

“I am going to free all those people. Do not follow me, Chagny, I am warning you!”

When Raoul said nothing, Erik let him up. He started to stalk away again and Raoul called after him, “And how will that help?”

“How will that help? They’ll be free!” Erik rounded on him. 

“They have work there! They have jobs! People like that can’t just find work, Erik, you’re condemning them-”

“Don’t tell me,” Erik hissed in a voice like hot coals, “what I am doing.”

“You are going to get them killed! They have a life-”

“THAT IS NOT A LIFE!” Erik roared. “You know what their lives are, Chagny? You know what they have given up to live that life? What are they selling, then?”

“They are working-”

“They are not working, they are selling their bodies and souls! It is not a life they live, it is prostitution!” 

“Do you know that they want to be free? What if you are condemning them to a life where they can find no work, where they are outsiders-”

Erik let out a bark of deranged laughter. It chilled Raoul to the bone. Then Erik stopped laughing, just as suddenly. His eyes were livid. He stepped up to Raoul, with his glaring eyes and dark cloak it seemed to Raoul that he was ten times the size he really was. “They are already condemned,” Erik’s voice was coiling smoke in a container that shouldn’t have been heated. Raoul couldn’t say anything. His tongue felt dried out. Erik gazed at him a second longer, then stepped away sneering coldly. “And here I thought you were a good man.”

The remark stung like a wasp bite. It stung that someone sunk so deeply in the cesspool of morality could judge him. Raoul was frozen by it and Erik had reached the edge of the fairground by the time he caught back up. Erik glared at him but Raoul didn’t go away. Stealthily, Erik began to unlock doors and cages, freeing the people and animals inside them. Some of them wouldn’t move, others ran freely. Raoul began to fear for the noise and sure enough his fear was justified when a voice bellowed, “For the love of God! Get up! Get up! They are running away!”

Raoul panicked and ducked away from the voice toward the outer edges of the camp. A hand grabbed his wrist, cold fingers, and pulled him next to a caravan. Erik clamped a hand over his mouth before he could scream. Raoul could hear voices shouting, could see lantern light lighting up the dark, it’s flickering glance licking closer. Erik was fiddling with the door, which finally pushed open and he hauled Raoul up and inside. The door shut with a click behind them. From the way the sound of their breathing bounced back at them Raoul could tell the place was small. Erik shifted beside him and Raoul heard him strike a match. He lit a candle that he had placed on the floor. Raoul didn’t have that much time to wonder about how many doodads Erik had in his pockets because Erik raised the candle and lit up around them a chorus of bodies. There were candles, everywhere, the flames flickering and dancing in shapes wholly dangerous and unreal. Raoul backed away, into a cold slick wall, and turned to find himself face to face with his own reflection. 

“Mirrors,” he croaked. Erik nodded, and the thousand other shadow Eriks nodded in unison. Raoul licked his lips. His mouth had gone dry and he realized now how thirsty he was. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back, more break out on his forehead. In his mind was an unimaginable heat. 

“What have you done?” he turned to Erik, or the Erik he thought was Erik. There were too many Eriks. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

“We’ll find the door.” Erik’s voice seemed to come from all of them at once. 

Raoul shook his head. “Let me out.”

“We need to find the door.”

“Let me out!!”

The phantoms all took a step towards him, their masked faces sinister, like ghouls, or ghosts, an unholy congress trying to take him away. Raoul closed his eyes and ran, straight into a mirror. He bounced off, kept his eyes closed, and felt his way along the cool metal, the cool metal that under his hands contained an unnatural heat. His hands were slick with sweat. He couldn’t tell where he was going but it didn’t feel like the small square he had been standing in. 

“Chagny!!” Erik’s voice bellowed after him. “Stay put! Chagny!” 

But Raoul had rounded a corner and disappeared from the congregation. Erik looked around, keeping his body angled toward where Raoul had gone. He felt his own fear rise in his throat. Panic. The gazes of a thousand disapproving spectres bore down on him. Erik turned his eyes to the ground and hurried after Raoul. Once through that first threshold he was completely lost. “Chagny!” Erik bellowed again, panic surging. He tried to keep it under control but it fought back. He nearly crumpled to his knees, buckling under the hatred that seemed to be pooling from the mirrors. “Chagny!” 

The walls felt like they were closing in on him, the dark shapes of himself leering wherever he turned, distorted and ugly. Erik sobbed and thought he heard an echoing sob. He wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination or not, but he followed it, hands scrabbling over walls to find the next threshold. And suddenly, there was Raoul, in a longer room, cowering against the wall, rocking quickly, his knees drawn up to his chest. Erik lunged at him, dropping the candle to the floor to shed light and pulled at Raoul’s hands. Raoul opened his eyes, uncomprehending eyes, wild eyes, and screamed. He scrabbled to get away from Erik, still screaming and the last threads holding together what remained of Erik’s composure broke. Anger, fear, it all clouded his mind, driven there by the sound Raoul was making. “SHUT UP!!” Erik roared, which only made Raoul cry harder, shaking his head as if to rid it of a phantom nightmare. 

“You’re going to kill me!” 

“YES!” Erik roared. “Yes I am going to kill you unless you get up! Get up you booby! You no good, preening, conceited, pansy, booby, little shit!”

Raoul had backed himself into a corner and was covering his face with his hands. Utter despair suddenly dropped on Erik and he buckled over, grabbing at Raoul’s shoes and trying to coerce him into standing through sobbing and shouting in turns. Raoul felt Erik’s fingers upon his ankle and kicked out with the bottled, shiver driven desire to knock something into oblivion reserved for the inhabitants of the uncanny valley. His shoe connected squarely with Erik’s nose, crumpling his mask, and causing Erik to yowl in pain and crawl away. Raoul took a deep, shuddering breath. On the other side of the room Erik was on his hands and knees making ghastly coughing gagging sounds. His shadow danced on the wall above him, a large spooky ghost. Adrenaline still coursed through Raoul’s veins. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been more afraid of the man in front of them, who was now trying not to choke on liquid running down out of his mask. It looked like he was going to turn into some kind of tentacle monster. Raoul grabbed the candle while Erik coughed and spat. He raised it slightly and it reflected off the puddles on the floor, gleaming red like malevolent jewels. Blood. 

“Erik?”

Erik stopped spitting, but didn’t turn to look at him. Raoul thought about crawling closer, but his instinct to keep himself alive told him not too. 

“We need to get out of here,” Erik’s voice was pinched. Blood dripped from under his mask and down his chin, painting his lips a ghastly red. Raoul began to scoot around the room, searching the walls, keeping as far away from Erik as possible. Erik for his part kept still on his hands and knees, breathing lightly through his mouth and once or twice making a strange mewling sound. The blood that dripped from his mask was seriously creeping Raoul out and making him want to hit Erik again. 

“Why don’t you take off your mask?” the agitation bit into Raoul’s voice. 

The drip of blood on the floor was the only answer he got until Erik moaned, “I can’t face it. I can’t bear to face what Erik is.”

“Well, I face myself every day. It’s how people stay responsible and moral. Deal with it,” Raoul snapped back. 

Erik didn’t respond to the jibe, just pointed to his right and said, “It’s that way.”

“What? How do you know?” The mirror looked the same as the others to Raoul, except that it was distorted to give him the appearance of a very round goblin. 

Erik coughed and spat again. “Edge of door. Sits higher. Slightly more space between panels for hinges.” 

Raoul approached it cautiously and pushed. It swung open silently, letting in a breeze of fresh night air. He could have cried with relief. Erik pulled himself out of the caravan beside Raoul. There were no longer lights in the fairground, but there were lights in the trees. They weren’t safe yet. Raoul turned to Erik. With the mask still mostly free from blood it looked like he’d undergone surgery to get his mouth replaced. 

“Are you ready to run?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you still going to kill me?”

“No.”

Raoul was still a little skeptical. “You first,” he said, gesturing towards the city. 

Erik took off at a sprint and Raoul followed him. When they got home they promptly avoided each other, so it wasn’t until the next day that Raoul saw just what he had done to Erik’s face. There was a purple bruise over the whole of Erik’s nose and spreading down under his eyes and Raoul was glad Erik didn’t look in mirrors because he was pretty sure Erik would certainly have given injury for injury if he’d seen how much more ghastly it made him look. 

“Hey Father?”

Raoul looked up from the work he was doing in his study. “Yes Gustave?”

Gustave rested his chin on the back of Raoul’s chair, studying his father’s work before asking, “How come we never celebrate Papa’s birthday?”

“What?”

“Papa’s birthday. We celebrate yours and mine every year, but we’ve never celebrated Papa’s. Does he have a birthday?”

“Of course he does, Gustave.”

“Then why don’t we celebrate it?”

Raoul paused. He’d never even considered that Erik might have a birthday, much less might want to celebrate it. He wasn’t sure if Erik considered being born something worth celebrating. 

“To be honest Gustave, I don’t know if Papa even knows when his birthday is.”

“Then we should make him one!” Gustave bounced up and down. His face was lit up like it always did when he had a good idea. Raoul sighed. 

“You don’t just ‘make’ a birthday.”

“But we could! I’d help out! Oh Father, please?”

Gustave stuck out his lip and leaned his head to the side, appealing to Raoul with adorableness rather than logic. Raoul looked away and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re just like your mother. She always thought of nice things to do for people.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Fine, yes.”

“Yippee!” Gustave rocked Raoul’s chair some more. “Can we do it this Saturday? I don’t have much schoolwork, and we can send Papa away to do something while we bake a cake, and-” 

Raoul placed a hand on his son’s head to avoid an onset of nausea. “Yes. Yes, Gustave. Now, try to retain your excitement. He can’t know what we’re planning.”

Raoul raised a finger to his lips and Gustave followed suit, positively radiating. 

As it turned out, Raoul didn’t have to fib Erik out of the house that Saturday. Erik was called away to deal with an architectural complaint. He left the house with his mask and in an ill temper. Once Raoul was sure Erik wasn’t coming back for a good while they set about making a cake. Raoul had gotten better at making cakes, and while still not pretty the cake would serve. Gustave and Raoul kept shushing each other as they worked as if the walls might carry their plans to Erik, which, Raoul noted, wasn’t that strange of a thought. Raoul had just finished hanging a banner that Gustave had drawn when he heard the front door open. Gustave quickly shooed him away. 

Erik was taking off his shoes, and Raoul could tell the day had not treated him kindly. He took off his mask. Raoul quickly stepped behind him and covered Erik’s eyes. 

“What is it now?” Erik cursed. 

“It’s a surprise. Walk forward.”

Erik sighed irritably through his nose. “This had better be a good surprise.” Raoul didn’t miss the threat in his voice, but made him take a roundabout route to the dining room anyway. He hoped Gustave had managed to light the candle. He really hoped Gustave hadn’t burned himself doing it. 

When they entered the dining room Raoul saw he needn’t have worried. He smiled at Gustave and Gustave grinned back. 

“What’s the surprise, Raoul? We’ve stopped moving, so I assume-”

Raoul threw his hands away from Erik’s face and watched as Erik’s expression went from annoyance to confusion to disbelief, and, finally, to something Raoul couldn’t quite describe but if pushed would say was love. Gustave ran around the table and flung his arms around Erik’s chest. 

“Happy Birthday Papa! Do you like it? I made the banner, and Father and I made the cake. I got to light the candle myself! You need to make a wish-”

“Gustave,” Raoul interrupted gently, “I think you need to give your Papa a moment.”

Erik’s hands were covering his mouth and his eyes were moist. Raoul was suddenly struck by the realization that this might be Erik’s first birthday party ever. Gustave, confused, looked up at his father and exclaimed, “Papa why are you crying?”

Erik bent over Gustave and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Tears were running in rivulets down his sunken cheeks. “Papa?” Gustave asked again, and Erik straightened up taking a deep breath. Raoul placed his hand gently on the other man’s shoulder and pulled him in for an awkward, one armed hug. He had never been close to Erik, far from it, but there was something about watching a grown man crying of happiness that made him forget that for a little bit. Erik wrapped his arms around Raoul’s neck. “Can my wish,” he asked shakily, “be to have a birthday every year?”

Raoul felt his own eyes becoming misty. “Of course,” he said, a little forcefully. 

Gustave wrapped his arms around both of them. “Can we eat the cake now?”

Erik pulled away from Raoul, their gazes bouncing off each other awkwardly like similarly charged magnets. He took Gustave’s hand and let the boy lead him to the table. The cake was pretty good, and they let Gustave eat more than usual. Later, sitting on the couch with Gustave lying across their laps asleep from a food-induced fatigue, Erik confided, “I never celebrated my birthday before.”

“I hadn’t thought so.”

“I guess I never thought it was worth anything.”

Raoul stroked Gustave’s hair. “Well you’re a father now,” he said, “so your life has some meaning, at least to some people.”

Erik smiled down at Gustave. Raoul felt a sting of jealousy or anger that he couldn’t place. “I meant Gustave,” he clarified.

“I know you meant Gustave.”

“Well good.”

Erik shot him a strange look and they stayed silent after that.

Raoul and Gustave came down with the pox at the same time. They each had a fever and chills. Erik did his best to care for them: he put cold washcloths on their foreheads, changed their sheets daily, and went shopping for plants and herbs that when he had spent time in Persia had been used to treat the sick. The concoctions he made tasted disgusting, but after a week Gustave, whose fever had been higher, made a recovery. Raoul’s immune system was not quite so spritely and he remained sick. Gustave worried over his father until Erik shooed him from the room to eat or go to sleep. Erik himself barely slept, doing so only briefly in the chair he sat in by Raoul’s sickbed. 

“Am I dead?” Raoul asked one day. “Have you come to take me away?”

Raoul’s eyes were glazed with fever. Erik sighed tiredly and pushed a spoonful of concoction towards Raoul’s mouth. Raoul ignored it. 

“Have you come to take me to Christine?”

“Chagny, it’s me. It’s Erik.”

Raoul’s eyes tried to focus on him. “Erik?”

“The Angel of Music? The Opera Ghost?” Erik tried to bring his rationality back by appealing to Raoul’s anger. It didn’t work. 

“Music? Can you play me something?”

“If you drink this broth I will.”

Raoul made a face. “It’s disgusting.”

Erik huffed. He was tired and in need of a shower and done with Raoul being sick. He sang a strain from the Wedding Song from Romeo and Juliet. Raoul relaxed back onto the bed, then sat up when the music was gone. He looked around wildly, then ordered, “Sing more!”

Erik held up the spoon. “You eat, I sing. You don’t eat, I don’t sing. Each spoonful is another bit of melody.”

He pressed the spoon to Raoul’s lips and Raoul reluctantly swallowed the concoction, then gagged. Erik sang him the next part of the song and Raoul visibly relaxed. And so it went. Finally, one day Erik awoke to find a blanket draped around his shoulders and Raoul’s bed empty. 

“Chagny?”

He hurried out into the hall. Raoul turned the corner, looking freshly showered. “I’m here. Whatever disgusting thing you fed me seems to have worked.”

Erik sighed, then pushed past Raoul into the bathroom. “Good. Now I need a bath and to sleep for about a week.”

Raoul had been called in to talk to Gustave’s teacher, though about what he wasn’t sure. He sat down at her desk feeling like a naughty school boy. The teacher shuffled her pages into a neat stack before turning a disapproving gaze on him.

“I have some questions about Gustave,” she said.

“He’s a good kid and a diligent student,” Raoul replied. “He does his homework on time and he might struggle a bit in history, but-”

“I have questions about things Gustave has said,” the teacher interrupted pointedly.

“Said?”

“There are times,” she paused, and grimaced as if the subject was distasteful, “that he talks as if he has two fathers.”

Raoul sat back in his chair. “Ah.”

“Would you care to explain?”

Raoul sighed. This would not go over well, but the truth would go over better than what the teacher was obviously assuming. “Gustave,” he said slowly, “is not my son by birth. There was a - rival- I had for his mother’s affections. I married her, but she had a one night affair with my rival and birthed Gustave as a result. For ten years I raised him believing he was my own. I only learned the truth just before she -- died.”

The teacher was obviously a little unsure about this unorthodox admittance, but patted Raoul’s hand in a comforting way. Raoul took a deep breath and plunged on. “The rival and I both wanted to look after Gustave, so we swallowed what remained of our pride and decided to raise Gustave together, to save him from the pain of losing either of us. This rival and I are not, in any way, I repeat in any way, living together for any other reason than to raise Gustave.”

The teacher pushed a pencil into line at the top of her desk, processing. “I see,” she said at last. “And I believe you. But you might want to be more careful about what your son says in the future. The explanation, though sensible, may not come in time to stop all suspicion.”

Raoul nodded and left. 

When Raoul got home he pulled Erik aside and said quietly, “We need to talk.”

Erik’s brows furrowed, but he followed Raoul into Raoul’s bedroom without comment. Raoul shut the door and turned to face him. 

“Did the teacher have something about Gustave that I need to know?” Erik demanded.

Raoul ran a hand through his hair. “Not quite.”

“Then why did she call you in?”

“We may need to move.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we need to protect Gustave.”

“From what?”

“From losing us!”

Erik threw out his hands, exasperated. “To what??”

“Imprisonment!”

“What?”

Raoul looked up to the ceiling for guidance as to how to break the awkward news. The ceiling offered nothing. Still looking at the ceiling he said, “For crimes of gross indecency.”

Erik swore. “If this is about my face, I am going to-”

“It’s not about your face.”

“What then?”

“How dense are you?”

“Excuse me?”

Erik took a threatening step forward. Raoul gulped. Erik was dangerous at most times, but angry he was a little unhinged too. Raoul searched for the right words, flushed, and said as calmly as he could manage, “People think we’re sleeping together.”

“We’re in separate rooms, I don’t see the problem here-”

“Oh for-!” Raoul shouted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then grabbed Erik by the wrists forcing them to stare eye to eye. In a strained, slow whisper he said, “People think we are in a homosexual relationship.”

Erik wrenched his wrists out of Raoul’s grasp, face paling. “They what.”

“They think we’re having sex.”

“I know what-!” Erik shouted, then paused and lowered his voice to a dangerous rumble. “I know what ‘homosexual relationship’ means. Why do they think this?”

“They’ve heard Gustave refer to us as his fathers.”

Erik leaned back, and breathed out a string of curses. Then he looked at Raoul and said, “You need to be seen with a woman.”

“I what?”

Erik chopped his hands in front of Raoul’s face. “Be! Seen! With! A! Woman! Chagny!”

“Wha- no! I can’t do that!”

“Well one of us has to, and you’re the one people know!”

“But I don’t want a girlfriend!”

Erik let out a long groan. “This is about protecting Gustave.”

“We can move.”

“So can rumours.”

“Alright, fair point. We need to tell Gustave to be more careful.”

“You need to be seen in the presence of a lady.”

“I don’t want a lady!”

Erik threw up his hands. “Fine! Then you’ll have me, does that work?”

“No. How would that solve anything?”

Erik cracked his knuckles, shot Raoul a contemptuous look, and said, “You’ll see.” 

“No murdering! Erik! No murders, you hear?” Raoul hiss yelled after Erik as he strode from the room. 

It was a few weeks later. It was Saturday, so Raoul had slept in. He pulled himself out of bed. The muffled sounds of Erik’s and Gustave’s voices drew him to the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said blearily. “Do we have any- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?”

Gustave looked up at his father, startled, and the lady who he had been talking to jumped as well. Gustave looked at Raoul, then back to the lady, then back to Raoul. He began to smile, and covered his mouth with a hand. A laugh still escaped his lips. 

“Oh, this is funny, is it? Just to have some random stranger come barging into my house? Turn and face me!”

“I told you I could solve it,” said Erik as he turned around. 

Raoul’s face went white. Then red. Then purple. “Doesn’t your father look funny, Gustave?” Erik asked, turning back to the boy who was clearly enjoying this. 

“How the hell-??” Raoul started. 

“It’s really rather easy,” Erik smirked, handing Raoul a cup of coffee. “I just told the shop keepers that I was buying for a lady friend. No one really wanted me around long enough to argue.”

“But- but you-”

Erik brushed hair back from his shoulders and sighed. “It’s a wig, Raoul. And I’m wearing a corset. And since my mask covers almost all of my face, that’s easy too.”

“What about your voice?” asked Raoul, desperate to find a hole in the plan.

Erik gave him a clearly disappointed look. “Raoul. I’m me. That’s the last thing you should be worrying about.” He said this in such a light, feminine voice that Raoul had to do a double take to realize the sound had come from Erik’s mouth. 

Raoul sat down next to Gustave, never taking his eyes off the strange apparition. Erik gave him a sweet smile that did not fit with Raoul’s mental picture of Erik at all. Erik reached down to tug at the top of one of his boots, lifting the hem of his gown as he did so. “God, these boots chafe.”

“Decency!” shouted Raoul, covering his eyes.

Erik looked at him confused, then stuck out his ankle and said, “What, this?”

“Put your damn skirt down!”

“Stop swearing in front of Gustave,” Erik retorted, dropping his skirt. 

Raoul growled and sipped at his coffee. Erik roughly placed a plate of eggs in front of him. 

“Here, eat.”

Erik sat down as Raoul began to eat his breakfast. “So. We need to agree on our story.”

“Can we do this after breakfast?”

“Obviously, but we’re doing it now.”

“Fine.”

Erik curled a strand of the wig around his finger. “I need a name.”

“Erica,” suggested Gustave. 

“Sounds a little too English.”

Raoul snorted. “A little too English? You can speak English.”

“Yeah, with a French accent.”

Gustave looked disappointed that his suggestion was rejected, but quickly thought of another one. “Olympe?”

“Could work.”

“Hedwig? And you are from Switzerland?”

“Sure.”

Gustave opened his mouth to make more suggestions, so Erik quickly interrupted. “Let’s go with Hedwig. I’ll be born in Switzerland. I’ll be the… how would we have met?”

“You’re the sister of Gustave’s music teacher,” said Raoul. “It works because you actually teach Gustave music.”

“Alright, and we can just keep that I’ve been deformed since birth.”

“And you met a few months ago!” piped in Gustave. “She came over to pick up her brother to go see a play together and you hit it off right away.”

“Okay…,” said Raoul. 

“And,” said Gustave, “you think she’s really pretty even if she doesn’t. You haven’t told anyone that you’re dating because, ummm, because you prefer spending your time together without other people around.”

Erik snorted. Gustave looked at him, confused. “No, no, it works,” said Erik quickly. 

“Well, that’s all settled then,” Raoul decided, standing up to wash his plate. “I think we’ve covered everything.”

“And you have sex sometimes,” said Gustave, then, shrinking under the combined stares of his guardians asked, “What? That’s what people do, right?”

“I am very concerned about what you’ve been hearing at school,” said Raoul.

“The older kids just mention it sometimes,” Gustave muttered.

“Well,” said Erik in an attempt to make Gustave feel better, “then we have sex sometimes. And I’m good at it,” he added. 

Raoul groaned. 

“Oh, buck up,” Erik rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to get dressed.”

“Then we’re going to take a walk in the park.”

“Fine!”

Raoul reminded himself to unclench his jaw. It was a nice day, somewhat overcast with a light breeze. Gustave was running ahead to inspect some interesting piece of nature and then running back to tell about it. Erik was walking beside Raoul clutching his arm, and Raoul was pretty sure he was purposefully hitting him with a parasol. Raoul was trying his hardest not to look at Erik, which was difficult because knowing that the woman walking beside him was Erik was incredibly disconcerting. Erik had really gone to quite an amount of work, and it paid off. They rounded a corner of the path and Raoul was hailed by a group of men, most of whom he either knew as parents from Gustave’s school or through work. Gustave saw some of his friends and ran off to play with them. Raoul cautiously approached the group. Erik’s fingers were digging into Raoul’s arm, and he could tell that Erik was nervous.

“Raoul! Who’s your lady friend?”

The speaker was a man by the name of Joseph. He was the father of one of the girls in Gustave’s class. Raoul thought that Joseph looked a little too surprised. Maybe the rumours had been spreading after all. 

“This is Hedwig,” Raoul said. Erik ducked his head politely. Raoul could feel Erik’s fingers trembling. 

The men took turns kissing Erik’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Erik murmured. He then quietly excused himself and went to stand by one of the ponds. A few of the wives of the men came up to talk to him. 

“She’s… certainly interesting,” Joseph craned his neck to watch as Erik was swarmed by curious ladies. “What’s with the mask?”

“She has a facial deformity,” Raoul replied, a tad defensively. “Nothing too bad, but she’s shy about it. She was really quite nervous to go for a walk with me out in public.”

Joseph eyed Raoul. “I didn’t realize you were the type to maintain a private relationship.”

“I didn’t plan on dating again after my wife died,” Raoul said, somewhat tersely. “But she snuck past my defences, I suppose.”

He immediately regretted his choice of words. 

“So she’s good in bed in she?”

“Wonderful,” replied Raoul, and was somewhat impressed by how straight he kept his face. 

Joseph smiled at Raoul. “Well, well, well… so Gustave might get another mother, will he?”

Raoul grinned sheepishly but said, “I don’t really plan to remarry.”

“Of course not, but if she’s as wonderful as you say it would be a shame not to pin her down.”

Raoul, now blushing delicately, excused himself. He heard Joseph wolf-whistle after him. The crowd of ladies all hushed as Raoul approached. Raoul put a hand on Erik’s back and murmured quietly, “Let’s continue our walk.” Erik took his proffered arm gratefully. As they moved away the ladies began to chatter again. 

“I think this has been a success,” Raoul murmured, grinning. 

“Of course it was.”

“So what did the ladies want to know?”

Erik paused. “You tell me what the men wanted first.”

Raoul scratched his neck, embarrassed. “They wanted to know if you’re good at sex,” he muttered quickly. “And I said yes, and they asked if I planned on marrying you.”

Raoul glanced at Erik, who finally asked, “And?”

“I said no.”

Erik sighed in relief. 

“And then they said that someone should pin you down.”

Erik’s neck flushed spectacularly red. Raoul cleared his throat awkwardly. After a few moments of silence, Erik muttered quickly, “The ladies wanted to know how big your penis is.”

Raoul stopped short. He made a few fishlike attempts at speech, but only produced a hoarse croaking. Erik tugged at his arm, determinedly not looking at Raoul. Raoul started walking again. Finally, cheeks burning, he asked, “What did you say?”

Erik huffed, then admitted, “I told them it was the envy of men half your age.”

“Mm.”

“Mm? That’s your response?”

“How else am I supposed to respond? You were just asked how- that. I’m obviously scandalized.”

Erik nodded curtly. “Maybe one day we’ll laugh about this.”

“I am never discussing this with you ever again. We are not even close enough to even consider talking about this again. My own enemy, asked how- … I can’t understand people.”

Erik shrugged. “To be honest, I didn’t have a high regard of humanity to begin with.”

“Mm.”

“There’s Gustave. You should call him.”

“Why not you?”

“Because I’m your dainty antisocial girlfriend.”

“Gustave! We’re moving on!”

Gustave quickly waved goodbye to his friends and ran back to his fathers. 

“So? Did it go well?”

“Yes,” Raoul decided. “It went fine.”

They used the Hedwig gig a few more times after that. Just frequently enough that Raoul wouldn’t be thought of as hiding a homosexual relationship but not too frequently because Erik didn’t like wearing a corset and the wig was itchy. And Hedwig was supposed to be antisocial. Gustave enjoyed the Hedwig gig maliciously. He liked it because it was a secret, but also because he found his dads pretending to be in love quite funny and enjoyed how embarrassed it made them. Erik and Raoul enjoyed it less. They were both greatly relieved that social customs didn’t require them to kiss in public or do anything more than for Erik to clasp Raoul’s arm or sit on the arm of his chair. One time Gustave had convinced them that they should be seen dancing, because ‘it was what people did’. Erik and Raoul agreed reluctantly and spent the evening avoiding each other’s gaze and trying to touch the other as lightly as possible, which led to some pretty bad dancing and a lot of sore toes. When they got home Gustave berated them about the believability of it. Erik and Raoul decided that Hedwig would not be attending any more dances, or more social gatherings than was absolutely necessary. 

The auction at the Paris Opera was advertised in the newspaper. It had boasted of relics from ‘the Phantom of the Opera affair’. Raoul had hidden the newspaper away. Erik didn’t usually read the newspaper, but for some reason Raoul wanted to attend the auction alone. 

They really didn’t have much. None of the furniture Erik had had in his lair, the furniture he had claimed was his mother’s. It had probably been moved to America, or was still useful and was not put on auction. They did have the horrific monkey music box thing. Raoul bought it. Holding it in his hands he decided he could give it to Erik for his birthday. 

When Gustave saw the music box on Erik’s birthday his response was, “Ew, what is that?”

“It’s a music box,” said Erik. “My music box. Where did you get this?” he asked, turning to face Raoul.

“There was an auction at the Paris Opera house.”

Erik nodded, stroking the music box. He wound it up and it played a melody. The melody was nice, but the monkey was still ugly. Erik decided to keep the music box in his room.

It was All Hallow’s Eve, and Gustave was out with his friends collecting treats from the community. Raoul had taken charge of giving out the treats to kids that came and knocked at their door because Erik was hiding in the back room with his mask on. Raoul thought he was being stupid, really, after all he looked like a perfect spectre. “Come on, Erik,” Raoul coaxed. “Take off your mask. Help me give out the candy.”

“No.”

Raoul sighed. “Why not? It’s All Hallow’s Eve.”

Erik poked his head out from the kitchen. “I said no.”

“But you look like a ghoul! It’s perfect! Everyone will love it!”

“No, they won’t.”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “All Hallow’s Eve is supposed to be scary, Erik.”

“Then you be scary!”

“I’m not scary! Have you seen me? I look like fricking Prince Charming!”

“And it’s annoying when people assume you act like Prince Charming, right?”

Raoul sighed. “Eriiiiiiik. Come oooooon. Be a ghoul! Be a ghost! The Opera Ghost!”

Raoul heard Erik slam his palm on the kitchen counter. “No, Chagny! Don’t you get it? I’m tired of being a ghost! I hate it! I can’t go around every other day and on All Hallow’s Eve everyone will just appreciate me for my ‘costume’! I’m tired of people only seeing me as some sort of two-dimensional marionette!”

“It’s one day Erik-!”

Erik stormed out of the kitchen and stopped facing Raoul. He pointed at the door. “Out.”

“What?”

“Go. Now. Leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you here!”

“But the kids-”

Erik hit Raoul’s bowl of treats out of his hands onto the floor. “Oops,” his voice was laced with venom. 

Raoul felt his temper flair. “That was a dirty-!”

“Go!” Erik bellowed. “Go now! Leave! Now!”

Raoul squared his shoulders and left in a huff. He started walking and just kept walking. It was a cold night, but he didn’t care. Past the kids, past the houses, down one street then the next. He knew he had been insensitive, but, but ,but. But Erik hadn’t needed to yell. Or be a jerk. Fueled by rage against Erik, Raoul kept on walking. 

Gustave arrived home before Raoul did. He’d had a fun time, and so it took him a little while to get over his high and realize that Raoul wasn’t there. He noticed as he was brushing his teeth. 

“Ppappfa,” he gargled, peeking into the living room. 

Erik stopped playing the piano. “What is it-? Gustave, you’re going to get spit all over the carpet.”

Gustave cupped a hand under his chin and pulled out his toothbrush. “Where’s Father?”

Erik steered him back to the bathroom. He didn’t seem to have heard. “Papa,” Gustave tried again. “Where’s Father?”

Dawning crested in Erik’s face. “He’s out.”

Gustave rinsed out his mouth. Quietly, he asked, “He’s not at a bar, is he?”

“He’ll be home soon Gustave.”

“Okay.”

But when Gustave had gotten into bed, Raoul still wasn’t home and Erik was beginning to get a little worried. At first, he tried to be relieved. Maybe Raoul was out of his life for good. But then he thought about how sad Gustave would be if that was the case and went to fetch his coat to go out looking for Raoul. 

The walk had been fine to begin with, but then a storm had blown in and by then Raoul had no idea where he was. He approached the street sign and tried to read it in the darkening light. Okay. He knew where he was. He hoped. Rain started to patter against the cobblestones and Raoul shivered. He didn’t have his coat and now that he was no longer warmed by anger the night was quite cold. Raoul tucked his hands into his armpits and started to fast-walk in the direction of the house. The rain came down harder. Soon he was drenched and shivering and his nose was running but he couldn’t be bothered to wipe it and almost wasn’t aware of it because he couldn’t really feel his lips or chin anymore. He was wearing house slippers, and they were becoming soggy towels, making it harder to lift his legs. Raoul leaned against a building. Maybe he could just rest a bit. Rest and recover his strength and continue going. But he was tired. He was really tired. Raoul thought he felt someone lift him up, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe that’s what falling to sleep felt like. 

Erik set Raoul down on the floor. He’d been lucky to find him. He quickly took off his coat and started a fire. He needed to warm Raoul up. He knew that. Erik may have been the king of having bad circulation but even he never had blue lips. And Raoul’s lips were blue. And he was shivering. A lot. ‘Don’t be squeamish,’ Erik told himself. ‘Don’t be squeamish.’ He took a deep breath. He would need to remove Raoul’s clothes. He started by removing Raoul’s slippers. Raoul’s feet were so pale they could have been Erik’s. Then he removed Raoul’s shirt. Then he went to get blankets. Finally, as quick as he could, given how soggy Raoul’s clothes were, he removed Raoul’s pants and underwear, then immediately threw a blanket over him. He set Raoul’s clothes close to the fire to dry. Erik grabbed a glass of water, room temperature, and helped Raoul into a sitting position. He wrapped another blanket around Raoul’s shoulders, supporting him and wrapped Raoul’s shaking fingers around the glass. Raoul spilled a lot of the water down his front. Erik pressed himself against Raoul, gently patting Raoul’s arms to encourage circulation. Raoul’s teeth were making a clicking noise. Still supporting Raoul with one arm Erik reached out with the other to gently massage his calves and feet. Gradually, Raoul stopped shivering, and Erik got him a warmer glass of water. Raoul’s fingers were still cold, but at least now they only had a slight tremor. Raoul’s hair had dried plastered to his head, and Erik ran his hand through it to spike it up. Erik yawned. It was late and he was tired. He put out the fire and hoisted Raoul up, careful to ensure the blanket stayed on top of him. He dumped Raoul into his bed. It wasn’t a very warm bed. Erik clenched the sheet in his hand. He should probably warm Raoul up, as Raoul didn’t really seem like he could provide his own body heat at the moment. Raoul would probably do it for him. Probably. Gingerly, Erik got into the bed beside Raoul, pulling him close. He was still a little cold. Erik tipped his head to keep Raoul’s hair from making him sneeze. It had been a long time since he’d held anyone like this. Slept next to someone like this. He’d only held someone like this once before - and now was not the time to think about it. Erik opened his eyes and pulled his arms away from Raoul. Raoul shifted and turned over. His hair was a little matted. Erik felt a spike of fear, and then realized Raoul’s eyes were still closed. Carefully, he rolled onto his other side. Raoul made a small noise and pulled Erik back towards him.

“You lettin the cold air,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead between Erik’s shoulder blades. His arms tightened around Erik’s stomach and Erik had to remind himself to breath. Adrenaline tightened his stomach, and his heart beat loudly against his chest. Not its usual ba-DUM ba-DUM, but a hammering like an alarm. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Erik remained tensely still, senses on way to high alert, until Raoul’s arms loosened again. Gently, he maneuvered himself out of Raoul’s grasp and sat up. Raoul made another soft sound, almost like a whimper. His fingers clutched at Erik’s hand and his lips moved, trying to form the words ‘I want you to stay’ but all that came out was a soft, “I want you.”

It startled Erik, and he paused, looking back at Raoul. His heart felt like it was in his throat and he swallowed it back down. Raoul’s eyes were still closed. One hand had curled back by his heart and his face was half mashed into a pillow. He was probably thinking about Christine, Erik reminded himself. He felt someone next to him and thought I was Christine, that’s all. Raoul’s fingers tugged at his hand, and Erik almost felt a little sorry for Raoul. He looked soft and alone and sad. Erik shifted so that his knees were towards Raoul, gently stroked the hair back from Raoul’s forehead and sang to him softly. He sang the first thing that came to mind. It was just a simple melody really, a lullaby. 

“Fare thee well my dear, my own turtledove, I must leave thee for a while. But although I go I will come back again, if I go ten thousand miles my dear, if I go ten thousand miles.”

A tear slid down Raoul’s cheek and Erik brushed it away. Raoul’s hand, the one that had been clasping Erik’s twitched as if to reach for him, and Erik brought Raoul’s fingers to his mouth and kissed them. Then he left the room as quietly as he could. Once he had shut the door and was in the hall the adrenaline finally took its toll and Erik stumbled to his room as fast as possible on legs that felt like jelly. He shut his own door and slid down it. His heart was beating painfully again, and he felt jittery and overstimulated. “Get up,” Erik muttered to himself. “Get up, lie down, stay down, go to sleep.” 

Erik flung himself unto his own bed. He took a deep breath and spread his arms and legs to remind himself that he was alone. The remembrance of the feeling of Raoul’s forehead pressed to his back flitted across his mind and he pressed his back as hard as he could into the mattress to drive it away. Erik felt like he had to move or run or do jumping jacks but instead he held himself still until he fell asleep. 

The next morning when Raoul woke up he only had blurry memories from the night before. He had thought Christine had visited him. She had become an angel. She would see him in heaven. He wasn’t completely sure how he’d gotten home, but when he woke up naked and found his clothes by the fire he had a pretty good guess. He decided not to ask Erik about it. 

Erik enjoyed standing on the roof when all was dark and no one was around, mask off, just to enjoy the stillness. Unfortunately, one day he was seen as he climbed down from the roof and turned his face once more to the sky. The next day men came to Raoul’s door and accused him of hiding the Devil. Raoul refused to let them in and berated them for their far fetched claims until they left, but it did not put an end to the suspicion. Erik refrained from climbing to the roof and instead began to walk around the garden in the back. There was a fence, but he was used to being enclosed. The night sky was still the night sky, no matter how little of it you could see. It was one of these nights as Erik watched a star zip across the sky that he heard a noise behind him. A soft thump. He’d always been uptight, and had began to turn around when he was pushed onto his back, pinned down; a gag was shoved into his mouth. The men who had come to Raoul’s door stared down at him. There was one sitting on his chest, another on his legs. Erik tried to push the men off him but his arms were wrenched back and pinned behind his head by a third. A bubble of fear began to expand in Erik’s chest. The gag tore at his lips, choking him on his own saliva. Erik tried to scream, but it came out garbled and wrong. 

“First we get you,” the man on his chest brought his face close to Erik’s. “Then we get him.” 

Erik struggled against his weight, unable to move. His arms were pressed down with greater ferocity. A spray of wet hit his face: the man holding his arms had spat on him. Erik was shaking, fear and a feeling of being trapped, alone, hunted, haunted, and oh so angry tunneled through his brain and fogged his vision. No, that was tears. He was hyperventilating. ‘I’ve got a son!’ he wanted to scream, ‘Don’t harm my son!’ He thrashed his head from side to side, tried to pull his legs free. The man on his chest slammed a hand into his windpipe and Erik gasped. 

“Look at me,” the man on his chest commanded. The others were laughing. “Look at me, devil!”

Where was Raoul? Erik thought wildly, angrily. He always showed up when Christine was in danger. Could he really be ignorant to what was happening? He stared at the back wall of the house, cursing Raoul and his terrible ignorance. Erik hissed and the expression of the man on his chest tightened. He shoved his fingers up Erik’s nose, tearing veins and tissue, and wrenched Erik’s face up to his. The pain was sharp, like a spear had been driven between his eyes. Erik screamed in pain, an inhuman, desperate scream. His head was pounding and his nose was throbbing and the face before him was swimming, but whether it was because of the tears or the adrenaline or the blood sluicing down his throat and gagging him further he couldn’t process. The man was no longer holding the gag down and Erik spat it out, screaming obscenities. His face was pushed back into the dirt, painfully sideways. Somehow the man now had a knife. 

There was a shot. It turned Erik’s world white. When it reformed, Raoul was standing in the garden, pistol in hand. Gustave was a few steps behind him. The look on Raoul’s face was thunderous. The man who had been on Erik’s legs was crying, curled into a ball holding his arm. 

“GET THE HELL OFF MY PROPERTY!” Raoul bellowed. “I WILL SHOOT YOU!” He waved his pistol menacingly. 

The men still holding Erik loosened their grip, and that was all he needed. The animal that had been building inside him took over. Erik sprung up, pinned the man who had been on his chest to the ground and began beating him with his fists. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel the man’s hands pushing at his chest, trying to protect his face. All he was aware of was the hard pain of the man’s skull against his knuckles, the warm blood on his hands. Somehow he registered that the man was no longer moving. Raoul was screaming at him to stop, but it couldn’t penetrate the beatings in his own skull, the nerves vibrating in his arms that never, ever, wanted to be pinned down again. There was still one more. He scanned the yard, quickly. There, climbing the wall. The man screamed as Erik jumped at him, tearing him down by his shirt, wrenching him free. Raoul was screaming something about Gustave. He couldn’t hear. Gustave. No. Gustave. He must finish this!

Gustave.

“Not in front of Gustave!” Raoul’s voice was weak and teary. He was on his knees in the grass. He was holding Gustave to his chest, blocking his vision. Erik reeled. He staggered away, away from the man in the grass whose chest rose and fell with a hoarse whisper. Away. His legs collapsed beneath him and Erik’s world swam. He felt helpless and alone. His breath still came in ragged gasps, feverishly inflating and deflating his chest. Flashes of anger clouded his vision. 

“Erik?” Raoul asked. There was a definite note of fear in his voice. Gustave was sitting, whitefaced. Raoul took a tentative step towards him. Erik growled. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t stop it. Raoul froze. 

“Erik, please, it’s me,” his voice trailed away. Raoul was afraid of him Erik realized and part of him was irrationally satisfied. Good. He should be. They all should be. 

“Just… just… Erik think about Christine. Think about your family.”

What family? He’d never had a family. 

“Erik is just property to you,” he growled, standing. He took a menacing step towards Raoul. Raoul stepped back. 

“I- I was talking about the lawn! Erik, please!”

Erik took another step forward. Gustave had scooted backwards and pulled his knees to his chest. Raoul backed away. Just like everyone else. Erik took another step, backing Raoul toward where Gustave was sitting. And then Raoul gulped, squared his jaw, and held his ground. Erik took another step to test him, and Raoul stayed. He stuck out his arms towards Erik. Erik stared at him. What was this? 

In a shaky voice Raoul whispered, “It’s okay.” 

It took so many seconds for the gesture to make sense in Erik’s brain. Then something clicked, shut off the anger and left only the after affects of adrenaline. Erik lunged at him, grabbing him. Raoul held solid, wrapping his arms tenderly around Erik’s back. Erik started sobbing. His knees shook and Raoul eased him to the ground. His arms were trembling violently and he clenched Raoul’s shirt in his fists like he was holding on for dear life. Raoul’s touch was still there. Raoul’s touch was still soft. Warm water ran down Erik’s legs; he’d lost control of his bladder. For a moment he was desperately ashamed, but Raoul held him still, cupping the back of his skull and breathing ‘It’s going to be alright’ into his ear. 

“Come on,” Raoul whispered. “Let’s get you inside.” He scooped his arm under Erik’s knees and lifted him like a child. Gustave followed them into the house. Raoul lowered Erik into the bathtub, Gustave hovering around the corners of the room like a spectre. 

“Erik, I need to undress you,” Raoul said, but Erik was already shaking his head. “You’re covered in filth.” 

Erik kept shaking his head. He couldn’t stop. Raoul looked down at Erik for a long second then said, “How about I bring you some clean clothes and you can undress by yourself?”

Erik nodded meekly. From the corner of the room Gustave said quietly, “I’ll do it.” 

He left so fast it was like he was never there. 

“Gustave,” Erik’s voice cracked. 

“It’s okay,” Raoul shushed him. “He’s going to come back.” Erik stared at him desperately. “He’s going to come back,” Raoul repeated. He placed his hand cautiously over Erik’s where it gripped the tub. Erik started. Raoul lifted his hand away. 

Gustave returned carrying some clothes and left again, silently. Raoul nodded at Erik and then followed. As the door closed, Erik heard Gustave whisper, “Is Papa going to keep being dangerous?” and Raoul’s response, “No, Gustave, just give him time.” Erik shrank back. His own son was afraid of him. His own son. He hugged his knees to his chest. Never before had he felt quite as alone. Tears welled in his eyes again and he choked back the heat in his throat. His eyes landed on the clothes. Gustave had brought clothes. Ferociously, angrily, he tore at the dirty clothes he still wore, clothes covered in blood and tears and snot and dirt and urine. He tore them away like he was tearing away a part of himself. The water was cold and clear. Erik washed himself quickly, then curled up over his knees, letting the water run over the back of his head. It was difficult to breathe past the water, but he deserved that. Why should he soil the world any more with his presence? Better just to wash away. 

Gustave was silent, deathly silent as he got ready for bed. When he was under the covers Raoul sat down beside him and Gustave curled against him. “‘M scared,” he whispered, his lip trembling. Raoul pulled Gustave tighter into his chest. 

There was a moment of quiet as Raoul stroked his son’s back. Then Gustave asked, “Will I end up like him? I don’t- I don’t want to hurt people- I don’t-!” His voice rose in distress. 

“Oh Gustave, of course not.”

“But how can you be sure?”

“Erik is…,” Raoul sighed. “Erik is a product of his past. He didn’t have...,” Raoul searched his brain for what he knew of Erik. Very little. He made a guess. “He didn’t have the love that you have. I don’t think he ever did.”

“I don’t have Mother anymore.”

“But you have her love. Your Papa didn’t even have that, I don’t think. He’s just… I think he’s as scared as you are, Gustave. I think he just shows it differently. He would never, ever, ever, hurt you. Okay?”

Gustave studied his toes. At last he said, “Okay.”

“Now I’m going to see how your Papa’s doing. Try to get some sleep, and don’t worry, you’re the gentlest boy there is.”

Gustave looked like he wanted to protest further, but he sunk back onto his pillows without a word. Raoul patted his knees and got up. 

“You’re not your Papa, okay? And thank god you’re not me either. You’re Gustave, my son. I love you.”

“I love you too, Father.”

Raoul kissed Gustave’s forehead and left his room. The door closed with a click behind him. He took a deep breath and headed to the bathroom. Better make sure Erik wasn’t doing something stupid or suicidal. 

“Erik?” Raoul rapped on the door. Inside, Erik flinched but stayed as he was, curled beneath the tap on the floor of the bathtub. 

“Erik are you dressed?” 

Erik didn’t answer. His leaden limbs wouldn’t allow him to turn his head. 

“Erik, I can hear the water running. Are you okay?” Raoul was beginning to sound anxious. “Erik, if you don’t answer me I’m going to come in!”

“I’m here,” Erik mouthed, hardly giving the words the breath they needed. Raoul did not open the door, but still Erik thought it would be better to get dressed. The last thing he needed now was Raoul seeing him naked. Once dressed he steeled himself and opened the door. Raoul gave him a timid grin, which quickly faded. “Hey.” 

Erik stared at him balefully. 

“Is there any - um - is there anything you need?” Raoul licked his lips nervously. Erik leaned forward and let his head bonk against Raoul’s shoulder. Gingerly Raoul patted him on the back. 

“Gustave?” Erik whispered.

He heard Raoul suck in air through his teeth. “He needs time, Erik. Give him time.” 

Even though Erik had known this would be the answer his desperate hopes still shattered. His lip quivered and he balled his fists against Raoul’s chest. 

“There, there, it’s going to be alright.” Raoul rubbed his hand in small circles on Erik’s back between his shoulder blades. Erik sniffled. “Come on, you should go to bed.”

Raoul began to disentangle himself from Erik. A new fear shot through Erik as he felt Raoul pull away. He was losing his moorings. He gripped Raoul tighter, pressing himself against Raoul until he could feel Raoul’s breathing. Until when Raoul spoke he could feel the vibration and not just the words. 

“E-Erik?” Raoul stammered. 

“Don’t leave,” Erik pleaded. 

Raoul’s stomach breathed in and out. 

“Okay,” he said at last. 

Erik tried to unclench his fists. He hooked his chin over Raoul’s shoulder. Raoul’s hair smelled nice. He smelled nice. He smelled warm and human. He was real, and he was here, and he was staying. Raoul shifted against him, bringing his mouth closer to Erik’s ear and began to sing softly, barely louder than a hum. His voice gave way at the high notes and the low notes. By the time he’d sung a fifth song Erik’s heart had calmed down and his nerves had stopped screaming. Suddenly he felt incredibly exhausted. 

“You should go to bed,” Raoul said to which Erik could only nod. Raoul walked Erik to his room. 

“I don’t need to sleep,” Erik turned away at the threshold. Raoul’s caught his shoulder and turned him back. 

“Yes you do, Erik, believe me.”

When Erik still looked scared Raoul added, “I’ll be in my room. You can come in if you need anything.”

Erik stared into his eyes for a desperately long second, but Raoul’s eyes confirmed what he’d said. Gratitude welled in Erik’s chest. He took Raoul’s hand in both of his and pressed it to his lips. Raoul coughed awkwardly. Erik dropped his hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. Raoul waited for Erik to enter his room before heading into his own. 

Raoul sometimes sang to Gustave when he put him to bed. He did it softly, because he didn’t feel very good at it. 

One day when Erik was teaching Gustave to sing he invited Raoul to join them. Raoul refused at first. Erik sighed dramatically and told him, “Your voice just needs some refining.”

Raoul was a little embarrassed that Erik had heard him sing, but joined them anyway. It was clear that Gustave was a lot better at singing then Raoul. Raoul also didn’t feel like trying very hard. 

“Okay, okay, stop.” Erik stood up from where he had been playing scales on the piano. He approached Raoul and crossed his arms. Raoul stared back. Erik sighed and gestured for him to keep singing. Reluctantly, Raoul did. Erik raised a hand to stop him again. 

“You’re straining your throat. And stop breathing with your shoulders. Unclench your stomach and use your whole diaphragm. Instead of trying to push the sound out of your throat try to imagine that the sound is already around you. You are breathing in the song and singing the song and you are the song. Try again.” 

Raoul tried again. He was better for the first few notes, then got embarrassed and clenched up again. 

“Maybe it would be easier if you sang a duet,” suggested Gustave. “Then there’s someone else making sound too.”

“You start,” said Erik as he sat back down at the piano. 

“...Do I have to sing with you?”

Erik exhaled through his nose. It scared Raoul a little so he started singing the first thing he didn’t quite think through fully. It was a song he’d sung with Christine, a sort of promise. Oh how well that had turned out. 

“No more talk of darkness…,” he started and Erik played a chord on the piano. It was easier with the piano making noise too. Raoul didn’t give himself time to think through what he was doing. He just closed his eyes and sang. When he reached the end of the verse he took a deep breath. He hadn’t known what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t Erik singing the next verse. But he was. And Raoul joined in when it was his part again. ‘So this is what Christine felt like,’ Raoul thought. Because it didn’t matter that he was singing a love song in front of his son and with his worst rival. He was singing it anyway, and Erik was singing back. Erik’s insidiously beautiful voice. Singing like he meant it and encouraging Raoul to do the same. His breathtaking voice, which made it hard to think. If he had been able to think about it, Raoul would have stopped singing, because this was not the impression he wanted Gustave to have, because he hated Erik, because the song was supposed to have been something to treasure between him and Christine. 

When the last notes trailed away Raoul opened his eyes. He shook his head to clear it. Gustave applauded. “You’ve got a good voice Father!”

“Th-Thanks.”

“Wasn’t that the song you sang with Mother?”

“Yes,” said Raoul, not looking at Erik. 

“I remember it.”

“Ready to continue, Gustave?” asked Erik, reminding Raoul that he was there. A sharp pang of almost shame squeezed in Raoul’s chest. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking. Erik was a hypnotist. 

“I’m done,” said Raoul gruffly, striding from the room.

Gustave was afraid of water. His fear had arisen after his mother’s death when he had almost been drowned. Now the thought of deep water sickened him. His nightmares always had a gloomy, green-blue quality to them like they were underwater. Gustave hadn’t talked about his fear with his fathers yet, they almost never were around large bodies of water, but even troughs and rain barrels scared him. So he decided to learn to swim. The idea made him want to scream, or run, or cry, but it was the best thing, he was sure of it. When he told his fathers he had trouble keeping his voice from pitching. They agreed. Raoul, who had a history with the navy, had learned to swim but hadn’t employed it for a long time. Erik didn’t know how to swim, not the same way as Raoul. He could propel himself through water with sheer ferocity but didn’t know any specific strokes. He also knew a trick for breathing underwater. 

“Um, where can I learn?” Gustave asked nervously. 

Raoul was about to answer but Erik beat him to it. “I know a place.”

Raoul cast him a doubting look. Erik rolled his eyes and walked to his room. When he came back he was holding a large, old metal key. A key that Raoul had seen before. Raoul started shaking his head and said with more aggression than he had meant to, “No. No, no, no.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Erik asked, obviously peeved. 

Raoul’s voice was strained. “My brother drowned there, Erik! And I don’t have the best memories of that place, in case you’d forgotten!”

“What place?” asked Gustave. His fathers hadn’t told him much about their previous encounters before he was born. 

“The cellars of the opera,” said Erik.

“There’s a swimming pool in the cellars?”

“There’s a lake.”

“I told you, we’re not teaching Gustave to swim there! I’m not!”

“Fine,” said Erik, icilly. He laid the imposing key in the center of the table, where it drew attention like an ill-begotten omen. “In case you change your mind.”

Raoul went shopping with Gustave for a swim suit later that week. In the privacy of the changeroom, Gustave took off his clothes and pulled on the swimsuit. It was snug, but fit well. He thought it was a rather embarrassing piece of clothing, but at least all the other people swimming would be wearing one as well. From outside, Raoul called, “How does it fit, Gustave?”

“Good! Well! It fits well!”

He removed it and put his clothes back on. 

The next day Raoul decided to take him to the pool. Gustave wasn’t quite prepared for it. He’d assumed that he would learn to swim… eventually. Buying a swimsuit had seemed like a big step, a step that would warrant a large break. The smell of chlorine was unfamiliar to Gustave. Raoul and Gustave changed into bathing suits together (Erik hadn’t come because he refused to show his face in public). Once dressed appropriately they headed out to the pool. The smell of chlorine became much stronger. There were women, men, and children in and around the pool, many more than Gustave had expected. He stopped to stare and Raoul nudged him forward to the shallower end of the pool. The water came up to just over Raoul’s knees. In the water, his feet were obscured and distorted, like they were made of smoke or melting. 

“Come on,” Raoul offered Gustave his hand. He was smiling. 

Gustave gulped. He took a deep breath. A small child ran past, causing a breeze to push against Gustave and suddenly Gustave was incredibly afraid of being pushed in. He backed away from the ledge. 

“Gustave?” asked Raoul. 

Gustave rubbed his hands over his face. Another person walked by him and he started. The tiles were slippery under his feet, so he sat down. Raoul got out of the pool and knelt beside his shaking son. 

“...Gustave?”

Gustave was hyperventilating. He felt Raoul’s hands on his shoulders, and the pressure helped calm him down a little bit. “I can’t,” he whispered fearfully. “I can’t”

Raoul looked concerned. “Why not?”

Gustave shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Alright.” Raoul tried to pull Gustave up but Gustave resisted. The floor wouldn’t hold him, it was too cold, too hostile. He’d slip and fall into the pool and he would drown. Raoul gave up trying to tug him up. When he next spoke his voice had a harsh note of agitation, “Gustave, what’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Gustave whispered, looking around at all the people at the pool. All the people that he didn’t want to see him break down. 

Raoul looked at his feet and took a deep breath. He looked up and said, “Okay.” 

Gustave felt Raoul’s arm around him again and he let Raoul pull him up, trusting more of his weight to his father than to the cold hard ground. Raoul asked him to walk properly, and it was easier when he stood straight. They changed and left the pool. Gustave hoped for a fleeting moment that Raoul would have forgotten to ask him about his behaviour but he had no such luck. Raoul walked him to the park and they sat on a bench. 

“Gustave,” Raoul said. “I want you to tell me what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay,” Gustave nodded. 

“...So?”

“I’m afraid,” Gustave’s voice pitched out of his control, “of drowning.”

And then suddenly he was bawling. It took Raoul by surprise, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his son, pulling Gustave into his chest. 

“When- when we were in America, before Mother died, Meg Giry took me to the dock and I thought she was taking me to you but she wasn’t and she threatened to drown me and then Mother died and every time I see water I think of that,” Gustave blubbered. It all came pouring out of him. 

“Oh Gustave,” Raoul whispered. 

“And- and I thought that if I learned to swim it would be better? But it’s not? And I don’t want to die and I feel guilty because Mother is dead and I’m afraid of joining her and I keep expecting dead hands to pull me under and I just really miss her.”

Raoul was silent. He stroked Gustave’s back and gradually Gustave quieted. Finally Gustave sat up and took a deep breath. Raoul put a hand on his shoulder. “I miss her too, Gustave. And you’re very brave.”

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to swim?”

“Yes, of course.”

Gustave flushed, then asked, “Is there a pool with less people?”

“Not really, no. lakes or oceans are usually less packed, but,” Raoul amended as he saw Gustave blanch, “I think a contained body of water would be better.”

Raoul stood up and Gustave followed. They began to walk home. About half way there Raoul said, “I suppose we could try the lake under the opera.”

Gustave felt a thrill of nerves. “When?”

“Oh, we don’t need to rush.”

It was nearly a month later when Gustave decided to try swimming again. He, Raoul, and Erik headed to the Paris Opera, Erik carrying his large metal key. The gate to the underground lake was not what Gustave had been expecting. It had bars on it, and led to a dark tunnel, and was covered in grime. Erik hauled it open. It squeaked, and Erik mentioned getting it oiled which made Raoul roll his eyes. Erik led the way down to the lake. He didn’t have a light, and as the daylight faded behind them Gustave began to worry but then a pale blue light began to emanate from ahead. The tunnel opened up to a small gravel beach, which sat beside a large, dark lake. The blue light was emanating from it, or from the walls, it was really hard to tell. At the center of the lake was a dark structure, almost lost in the shadows of the sheer depth of the room. Gustave gaped at the room. Raoul was also looking around, his expression torn between wonder and pain. Erik stood slightly hunched in the blue light, both at ease and on edge. This was his territory after all. After a few more seconds of everyone getting used to the place, Erik pulled two long straw-like reeds from a bag he was carrying. He offered one to Gustave, then stepped towards the water. 

“Don’t I need to put on my swimsuit first?”

“Right,” Erik sighed. He pulled the swimsuits from his bag. Erik was the only one without a swimsuit. He’d always just waded into water wearing his clothes. Erik politely turned his back and wandered along the shore line to give Raoul and Gustave privacy while they changed.

“Are you decent yet?”

“Not quite,” Raoul answered.

“How about now.”

“Yep.”

Erik turned back around. Technically they were decent, although Raoul was still adjusting his swimsuit. Swimsuits just weren’t the most decent of clothes. Erik took Gustave’s hand and led him to the water’s edge. They each put the straws in their mouths. Gustave took a shaky, nervous breath. The water was cold on his toes and he gripped Erik’s hand tightly as Erik slowly led him into the water. When it was up to his waist Erik knelt, forcing Gustave to do the same. The water encircled his neck, a cold clammy grasp. Gustave’s frantic eyes found Erik’s and Erik nodded at him. Then Erik pinched his nose (or what existed of it) and lowered his head under the water so that just the reed stuck above it. Gustave squished his eyes shut, pinched his nose, and sunk into the water until the cold had closed up over him. He could still breath thanks to the reed. Cautiously, Gustave opened his eyes. It was dark under the water, but surprisingly clear. Erik gave him a thumbs up and Gustave returned it. Now that he was completely under the water it was a lot easier. Erik slowly moved further back into the lake until he could stand and still be under water. Gustave followed him. He almost wanted to laugh. 

Raoul watched his son follow Erik into the water with a creeping sense of unease. He rubbed his arms, which had goosebumps. So this was where his brother had died. The tips of the reeds moved further into the lake, and gingerly Raoul walked into the water to follow them. He took a shuddering breath, glad neither Erik or Gustave could see him. He dove under the water, masking the tears on his face. Floating under the water, he tried to remember the last time he’d actually gone swimming. He kept expecting to be grabbed. He kicked to the surface, then swam over to where Gustave and Erik were and dropped under the water again. 

Raoul looked funny holding his breath. Gustave waved maniacally at him and Raoul waved back. Raoul kicked to the surface when he couldn’t hold his breath any more and Gustave followed him. 

“Father!” Gustave pulled the reed from his mouth, flailing his arms and legs to keep above the water. “Father I did it!”

Raoul grabbed Gustave’s arm to keep him from sinking. “Very nice. How about now I teach you how to keep your head above the water?”

“Yeah!” 

Raoul pulled Gustave to the shallows where the water was up to his chest. Erik emerged beside them, startling Raoul and causing him to swear. 

“Don’t do that!”

Erik pulled the reed from his mouth. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to teach Gustave to swim.”

Raoul had Gustave hold onto his arms and kick. Gustave kept falling, so Raoul had him practice starfishes first. Erik watched with interest. He was too prideful to copy what Raoul was teaching Gustave, even though he knew he wasn’t exactly the best at swimming. Once Gustave had pretty much gotten the hang of kicking while holding onto Raoul’s arms, Raoul moved further away and had Gustave kick to him. The water felt a little less like it was trying to pull him down if he didn’t focus on his fear. When Gustave finally managed to swim to Raoul without touching his feet to the ground they both jumped around in excitement. Erik smiled and lay on his back, floating. Raoul saw what he was doing, and put a finger to his lips to tell Gustave to stay quiet. Then he slunk into the water and swam up beside Erik. When he stood he reached beneath the other man, and with a heave, flipped him over. Erik screamed as he was uprooted and splashed into the water. He came up spluttering and lunged at Raoul. Raoul had been laughing, but when Erik pushed him beneath the water it was suddenly no longer a game. He grabbed at Erik’s throat and lifted him up and away. Raoul’s breath came in gasps and he stood trembling and lifting Erik by the throat. Erik’s nails dug into his skin and he hissed, “What are you doing?”

Gustave’s face had gone pale. Raoul dropped Erik despite the insane instinct to strangle him. “Do not,” he growled, “do that ever again.”

He wiped at his eyes and bit his fist. Erik relaxed from a fighting stance. “Okay,” he said. 

Gustave looked from one dad to the other. “Father, are you okay?”

Raoul shook his head, “I’ll be fine Gustave.” 

He returned to teaching Gustave to swim. Erik sat on the shore, his excuse being that his clothes needed time to dry. There was a space inside him, a space that felt incredibly lonely and left out, and a little bit scared. And he knew it was his own fault. All he ever did was tear people apart. When they walked home after a good hour of swim practice, Gustave was a lot more relaxed. He still didn’t like the water, but he was determined to know how to swim and he acknowledged his progress with a small, shy smile. Raoul had mostly forgotten about Erik pushing him under the water. He was keeping it below the surface, instead focusing on complimenting Gustave. Erik was quiet. He felt like an outsider. 

“Chagny, I need to talk to you,” Erik’s resigned voice surprised Raoul as he was walking toward the living room. 

“Okay…?” Erik looked troubled. He was twisting his hands in what looked to be a very uncomfortable way. 

“I’m sorry,” the words seemed both torn forcefully from Erik and to flow from him, “for killing you brother.”

Raoul tightened his jaw. He stalked past Erik and into the living room. Erik watched him go, then spent a moment bonking his fist against his forehead. 

They began to swim every Saturday in the evening. Gustave improved slowly at first, then, once he got more comfortable in the water, improved faster. Erik always came along to these swim lessons, but he always felt a little left out. He didn’t really try and improve his situation though. Sometimes he would join in a splash fight, and those were his favourite times. One night, it was a Friday, Erik decided to go swimming by himself. He hadn’t told Raoul, but he actually had two copies of the key to the cellars. The cellar was as dimly lit as it always was. Erik took his reed and walked across the bottom of the lake to get to the other side, the house he had abandoned. It was almost exactly as he remembered it, except that most of the furniture had been pillaged out. The pillagers had left the organ, but then again it was very hard to move an organ across a lake. Most of the larger furniture remained, although the coffin was smashed to smithereens. No great loss there. Someone had also forced open the door to the torture chamber and taken a hammer to the mirrors. Well. You couldn’t go around haunting an opera without the people wanting some sort of retribution. 

“Where’s Papa?” 

“Who knows?” Raoul replied sourly. In his mind he added ‘who cares?’.

“Do you think he went swimming?” Gustave asked. Raoul shrugged and went to loot around Erik’s room for the key. He was able to find it. 

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Gustave frowned. “Let’s check anyway.”

Raoul sighed, but said, “Sure.”

The door to the underground lake was closed, but not locked. “Well, we know where he is,” said Raoul, turning to leave. 

“Is he safe down there? What if he drowns?”

“He’s got that dumb stick thing. He’ll be fine.”

Gustave hesitated, then pushed open the door. 

“Where are you going?” Raoul asked.

“If he is fine, he won’t mind us checking on him,” Gustave’s voice floated out from the tunnel. Raoul swore quietly, then followed Gustave. 

Erik heard the faint doorbell that signaled when someone was on the beach uninvited. He crept to the door and peered out. It was just like all those years ago, when his first thought was how to drown them. Except there was no boat, people had trashed it. 

“Papa?” Gustave called out. His voice echoed through the dim chamber. “Papa, are you there?”

Erik relaxed. It was just Gustave, and likely Raoul. That wasn’t so bad. “I’m over here, on the island,” he called back. 

“Okay cool! We were just checking to make sure you’re okay!”

“Yep, fine.”

There was an awkward pause while they all wondered whether Raoul and Gustave would leave or whether Erik would swim back to join them. Raoul was the one who broke the silence. 

“Guess we can be going then.”

Erik thought he heard Gustave’s muted protest, and he made up his mind. “It’s fine, I’ll come to you.”

Where had he put the reed? He’d been holding it when he entered the house. He must have put it down at some point. Was it worth going back in and looking for it? He could, but now that Gustave and Raoul were waiting for him he felt rushed. Forget it, he decided and walked into the water without it. Erik was not the best at swimming. He swam like a dog, all ferocity, very little technique. It was very tiring. The lake felt a lot larger now that he wasn’t walking across the bottom. Erik flailed along, trying to keep his head above the water, which was harder the more he swam. 

“Father,” said Gustave as he watched the white foamy area that was Erik swimming, “I think Papa needs help.”

Raoul looked at the water and cursed. He quickly removed his shoes and socks, offered Gustave a “Stay here” and ran into the water. He was able to reach Erik quickly. 

“Erik!” he yelled. “I’m going to grab you, okay?”

“What?” gargled Erik. 

Raoul rolled his eyes and looped an arm under Erik’s armpits, pulling him to his chest so that Erik was facing backwards. “Kick,” Raoul yelled into his ear. 

Erik dutifully obeyed. Raoul pulled Erik along doing a modified side stroke. Even though Erik was kicking it was wearing him out. When they reached the shore Raoul heaved Erik onto it then collapsed on top of him. 

“You,” he gasped, “can’t swim for shit.”

Erik nodded weakly. 

“I thought you had a-,” Raoul made a circle with his fingers and waved it up and down, “I thought you had a reed.” 

Erik gestured at the house. 

“You’re a dumbass fool, you know that? Why can’t you swim?”

Erik shook his head. “I can swim,” he gasped. 

“That’s not swimming, that’s drowning with style. Why haven’t you been joining in when I’m teaching Gustave?”

“Look, I don’t need to, all right? I can swim-”

“Gustave, can Papa swim?”

“Not really…”

“Alright! Fine!” Erik bellowed. “I can’t swim! It’s just- it’s embarrassing to ask you to teach me.”

Raoul nodded and let his head drop to his chest. He has raised himself on his elbows but still almost hit Erik in the chin. Erik and Raoul took a few seconds to catch their breath. It was hard for Erik to relax, now that he knew he’d have to ask Raoul to teach him to swim and with Raoul being on top of him. A few layers of wet clothes didn’t do much. 

“Get off me.” Erik pushed Raoul’s shoulder. Raoul obligingly rolled off him. Erik sat immediately, pulling his legs to his chest. 

“Do you want to learn how to swim?”

Erik sighed, rubbing a hand over his scalp. “Yes. Yes, I would like to learn how to swim.”

“Good. Take off your clothes.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah, now. You’ll get weighed down. You can leave your underwear on.”

Erik looked at Raoul like he was crazy. 

“Look,” said Raoul, tipping his head skyward. “If you’d bought a swimsuit, you wouldn’t have to do this.”

“I can swim in my clothes.”

“No you can’t, they’ll drag you down! And besides, they need to dry before we head back to the house.”

“No.”

“Fine. But if Gustave and I leave here before you it’s your own fault.”

Raoul stood and started to pull off his shirt. 

“Why do I have to learn to swim now? I’m exhausted!” Erik protested, quickly averting his gaze. 

“You’ve got enough energy to argue, you’ve got enough energy to swim.”

Erik clenched his jaw and stalked towards the water. 

“At least remove your socks and shoes!” Raoul called. Erik huffed, and removed his socks and shoes with more violence than necessary. Raoul finished stripping off his wet clothes and followed Erik into the water. Erik was bobbing in the water so that the water came up to just below his nose. Raoul offered Erik his hands, which Erik looked at in disgust. 

“Grab my hands, Erik,” Raoul sighed, exasperated. Reluctantly, Erik gripped Raoul’s wrists. His hold was vice-like, verging on painful. Raoul pulled Erik out so that he was floating on his stomach. “Just float like this, okay? I’m going to remove my hands.” Well more Erik would have to release his hands, but same diff. 

Erik unwillingly let go of Raoul and floated face down in the water like a corpse. When he raised his head for air Raoul grabbed his hands again. “Now I want you to float like that, but this time kick. I’m going to pull you around. Breath by tilting your head to the side.” 

He pulled Erik along. Erik held his breath for as long as possible studying the lake bottom to keep Raoul from seeing the embarrassed flush of his cheeks. Then Raoul taught him a basic arm stroke, which he also had to practice holding onto Raoul’s hands. Raoul instructed him to try putting it all together. It was a big mess. Erik started sinking before he’d even gone a foot. Raoul came over to him. He had Erik float on his stomach again. It was the one thing that Erik was good at. Raoul reached under Erik to put a hand on his stomach. At the feel of the touch Erik jerked away, surfacing from the water. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re having trouble keeping afloat while doing the stroke, so I’m going to hold you up while you practice it.”

“I’m fine on my own!”

Raoul raised a coy eyebrow. “Show me.”

Erik flushed and sunk back into the water. “Fine.”

Raoul watched him bob up and down. “Fine as in…?”

“As in ‘fine, support me then’!”

Erik reluctantly floated on his front again. Raoul put a hand under his stomach to keep him up. Erik tried to suck his stomach as far away from Raoul’s hand as possible. Tensely, he practiced swimming. 

“Good,” Raoul said. “Now all you need to do is relax.”

As if. 

“I got the basics now,” Erik slid off Raoul’s hand. “We can continue tomorrow. I’ll join Gustave.”

“Fine with me.”

Erik waded back to shore and stood shivering as he waited for his clothes to dry. He avoided looking at Raoul. Gustave approached him. 

“I’m glad you’re okay Papa.”

Erik nodded stiffly and patted Gustave’s shoulder. “Thanks for looking for me.”

“You could still get a swimsuit,” Gustave said, eyeing Erik as he shivered. “Tomorrow. Before we go swimming.”

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

Erik lowered his voice. “I just don’t like-”

“Because your Papa’s ashamed of his body,” Raoul called out. 

“I never said that-!” Erik yelled back. 

“Oh please, it’s obvious.”

Erik spun on his heel and stalked towards Raoul. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business, Chagny?”

“When you’re dripping wet everything is everybody’s business,” Raoul fired back. Erik blanched, keeping his eyes boring into Raoul’s with sheer force of will. “Besides,” Raoul continued, “it’s pretty obvious you hate your body. You avoid mirrors like the plague.”

Erik flushed angrily. So what if he had body positivity issues? It wasn’t Raoul’s business, and he certainly had no right to go and tell Gustave about it. He stood there shivering before Raoul, unsure quite what to do or what feelings to vent. He was confused. He felt angry at Raoul, but also ashamed, the ashamed that made him want to shrink down to nothing, curl up and die. Finally he turned away. 

“...Papa?” asked Gustave. He trailed off, unsure what to ask. The atmosphere in the cellar was icy. Erik bent down to touch the clothes Raoul had laid out to dry. 

“Still damp,” his voice was tight. He straightened up, his wet clothes bunching weirdly around his shoulders. Erik had his arms drawn tight to his chest, and watching him Raoul felt awkward, like his bravado in his own skin was contributing to the other man’s discomfort. Raoul tugged on his still damp clothes. 

“We’ll make a scene, but I’m ready to leave if you are.”

Erik gave a tight nod. The three of them walked up the tunnel and through the door, locking it behind them. Erik’s kept his arms wound tight around his dripping shirt all the way home. 

Gustave had gone into the cellar to fetch some potatoes. The cellar was dark and cool, the coolest part of the house. As he held up the candle to search for the potatoes something scuttled across his path. It was a quick dark shadow, he couldn’t make it out, but he looked after where it had gone. What was it? Quietly, Gustave snuck closer to where the thing had gone. He pulled aside a sack quickly and something darted forth again to find a new hiding place. Gustave pounced on it. Beneath his hand, a furry body struggled to escape. Gustave curled his fingers around it and brought it up to the light. A rat. It had been struggling in his grasp before, claws catching at his hand, but the light blinded it into stillness. Gustave looked at it and decided he needed to show his dads. 

“I think we have a rat problem,” he said as he entered the kitchen. 

Gustave had expected his dads’ reaction to go something like this: Erik would take the rat from him and calmly snap its neck while Raoul turned away in disgust and talked about calling an exterminator. That was not what happened. At the sound of his voice Erik and Raoul turned to look at him, saw the rat squirming to get free of his hand, both shrieked, and grabbed at each other in a lopsided attempt at obtaining a shield. 

“Why are you holding it?” yelled Raoul. 

“It’s just a rat,” Gustave responded, confused. 

“Put it down, put it down, you’ll get sick,” hissed Erik. 

Gustave furrowed his brow. “I can’t put it down, it will get back into the cellar. I thought you could, I don’t know, kill it or something.” 

The look on Erik’s face said that he definitely did not want to get any closer to the rat. 

“Or,” Gustave sighed, “I guess I could release it outside…”

“It’ll just find its way back again!” Raoul pointed a shaking, accusatory finger at the rat. “Those bastards are sneaky devils, they are!”

“So what are we going to do about it then?” Gustave huffed. “We can’t just ignore the cellar.”

Reluctantly, Erik unpeeled himself from Raoul and took the rat from Gustave. In a quick movement he snapped its neck. He walked to the front door, opened it and pitched the body as far away as he could. Then he ran back to the kitchen to wash his hands and instructed Gustave to do the same. 

“You just made a cat really happy,” said Raoul. 

An idea lit up in Gustave’s mind. “Hey! We could get a cat!”

Raoul and Erik looked doubtful. Gustave pressed on, “Obviously neither of you want to go down in the cellar to deal with the rats, and this way we don’t have to invite a stranger into the house. It’s just a cat. They’re really independent. We might not even have to feed them if they eat the rats, and we’d just need a litter box or something.”

So it was decided they would get a cat. Raoul was the one who found the cat, an older female who a friend could no longer take care of. She had long fur and a loud voice. She was named Gigi, but Erik called her Sultana because she complained if not given enough attention, or if her litter needed changing, or to wake them up and the name stuck. Sultana was very good at catching rats. She adored sitting on laps, and if Erik didn’t let her sit on his lap when he spent long periods of time at the piano she’d nip at his ankles. Sometimes she’d howl along when Erik was playing something and Erik would howl back, making a tremendous din. Erik teased Raoul that the cat had a better voice than he did. Raoul would get back at him by scooping a wad of Sultana’s hair off the couch and dumping it on Erik’s head and complimenting him on how well his hair was growing. Sultana loved Gustave best, and would sit with her chin on top of his leg when he was reading on the carpet. 

One day when Erik, Raoul and Gustave were in the living room Gustave asked where babies come from. Raoul immediately responded, “Erik can tell you.”

“Why me?” squawked Erik.

“You’re the expert,” Raoul smirked, sitting back to enjoy the embarrassment he had just hoisted onto Erik’s shoulders. 

Erik sighed, then turned to face Gustave. “Everything I’m about to tell you may sound a little strange, but I assure you is how all babies are made. Babies are made through sexual intercourse, which is when a man and a woman … how do I put this.”

Gustave watched him. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Erik waved him off. “It’s a good thing to know. So. Men have penises, and women have a vagina and to make a baby you put one in the other. And it’s enjoyable. Or it should be.”

“You forgot to cover consent,” said Raoul, helpfully. 

“And both people have to want to have sex,” Erik explained. “Otherwise it’s called rape, and it’s bad.”

Gustave looked a little embarrassed. “But… what if you don’t want to make a baby but still want to have sex?”

“Then you use some form of protection, or just don’t go all the way, or touch each other differently.”

“Protection?”

“A condom.”

“What’s that?”

“Kind of like a rubber sock. You put it over your penis.”

“Oh,” said Gustave. Then he asked, “What does ‘homosexual’ mean?”

“Your father can explain that,” said Erik immediately. 

“What? But you were doing such a good job!”

Gustave had turned to Raoul now, and Raoul sighed. “It’s when two people of the same sex have a sexual relationship.”

“But how does that work? You can’t make babies like that.”

“Sex isn’t just about babies, Gustave. It’s something people do when they love each other.”

“Have you done it?”

“Yes.”

“So then how does it work with two people of the same sex?”

Raoul was caught off guard. “Uh- no- what I meant was I’ve had sex with your mother.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know how it works.”

“Okay. I guess I just thought, you know, because you’re both my dads…”

Now Erik was flushing too. “We- your Father and I don’t- we don’t love each other, Gustave.”

“We still love you though,” Raoul added.

“You don’t have sex with me.”

“That’s because you don’t have sex with children and sex is for a different kind of love. You will know when you want to have sex with someone. And sexual love isn’t ‘better’ it’s just different. We still both care about you a lot.”

“Okay,” said Gustave, with a small smile. 

“... Does that answer your question?” asked Erik. 

Gustave nodded. Erik excused himself to go wash the dishes and Raoul buried his face in a newspaper. Gustave noticed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No. It was a perfectly reasonable question. Your Papa and I are just… a little embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Raoul sighed. “Because we used to be enemies and the thought of sleeping together makes us uncomfortable.” 

Gustave laughed. 

They were on their way home from the play. Each of them had been sorely disappointed. Raoul thought the actors had been tactless. Gustave thought that it wasn’t a realistic plot. And Erik found issues with almost every single detail. Eventually Erik grew tired of expressing his distaste and grew silent. They walked on. In the darkness behind them came faint sounds of footsteps. 

“Chagny,” Erik’s voice hissed in Raoul’s ear, though Erik leaned no closer. “We’re being followed.”

Raoul nodded curtly. He had been hearing the footsteps too. He clasped Gustave’s hand. 

“When I give the signal,” Erik’s mouthless voice continued, “grab Gustave and run.”

Erik reached into his coat and out of an inside pocket pulled his lasso. He still carried it with him even though he had promised Raoul not to use it. “Run!” he hissed. 

Raoul picked up Gustave and ran. Erik spun to face the stalkers. Seeing their prey running away the men swarmed the alley. Erik whipped out his lasso, tripping the first one. He sent his voice over the shoulder of another to distract them. He sent another one to the ground with a punch to the jaw, but was then grappled from behind. He whispered, “Tricked you” in the man’s ear, causing him to loosen his grip and elbowed him in the stomach. He took in the situation. Three down, but still more were converging on him, guarded. 

Raoul stopped running and paused to see if he was being followed. He lowered Gustave from arms growing tired. 

“Where’s Papa?” gasped Gustave. “Why isn’t he with us?”

“Hush, Gustave!”

“What if he’s hurt?”

“He won’t be hurt. He’s the Phantom.”

Gustave started running back the way they had come. Raoul cursed and ran after him. “Gustave!” he hissed. “Gustave!”

Gustave turned. His eyes were shining with tears. “I don’t want Papa to be hurt!” he shouted. 

“Alright! But I lead the way.”

Raoul ran back the way he had come, back towards Erik and the men who had followed them, cursing himself as he went. He paused at the entrance to the alley where they had left Erik and paused, putting a hand over Gustave’s mouth. There were sounds of thumps and then one jarring crack. Then nothing. Raoul pushed Gustave back, then peered around the wall. There were bodies lying on the ground, but Raoul could see their chests rising. One man was standing over the figure of another. Raoul almost called out to Erik, but then he took another look at the one slumped against the wall, and with a shock, recognized Erik’s reflective eyes slitted in pain. He quickly pulled his head back, hushed Gustave with a finger to his lips and took off his shoes. The road was coarse under his stockinged feet. 

“You’re not so tough are you?” the man leaning over Erik said. “You’re just a human. Thought you were a devil, but I’ve taken you down haven’t I?”

He spat at Erik. Erik weakly shifted his head. His eyes, unfocused, landed on Raoul then slid off. Raoul’s breath was sticking in his chest. When he was finally close enough he grabbed the man’s head and slammed it into the wall. The man slumped down, unconscious. Raoul knelt beside Erik. Even in the dark he could tell Erik was not in a good way. Gustave approached from the end of the alley carrying Raoul’s shoes. Raoul put them on quickly, then hoisted Erik into his arms before Gustave could get a good look at him. They hurried home as quickly as possible, not talking. When Raoul finally crossed the threshold of their house his arms were dying. His whole front was damp and sticky. Gustave turned on the light and screamed. 

“Papa!” he shrieked. “Papa!”

In the light Erik looked even more like a corpse than usual, mostly due to the copious amounts of blood that were running from his head and had soaked his shirt and Raoul’s. Gustave’s legs collapsed and he continued shrieking. “Papa! Papa!”

“Gustave!” bellowed Raoul. Gustave stopped screaming, shocked by the force in Raoul’s tone. Raoul felt an instant flash of guilt, but didn’t apologize. “Gustave, get some water, bandages, and the sewing kit.”

Gustave’s face was white like Raoul’s, but he nodded and ran off. Raoul had noticed the tears in his eyes and knew that Gustave was reliving the night his mother had died. He quickly carried Erik into Erik’s bedroom where he lay him on the bed. Raoul would have removed Erik’s mask, except that it had fallen off sometime between the fight starting and getting home. Raoul tore off the reddened shirt. Erik’s chest and arms had taken a slight beating and there were purple bruises standing out against his pale skin. His knuckles were bleeding, most likely from giving punches. Raoul wasn’t completely sure whether his chest had been knocked in or was just usually concave. He decided it was the latter because it was the option that left him the most belief that Erik wouldn’t die. Gustave arrived with a tub of water and bandages and they set about wiping down Erik’s cuts. Gustave’s face was set and betrayed no outward emotion when Raoul wiped the blood off Erik’s face to inspect the large gash on his forehead that was the source of most of the bleeding. It was a large cut, inflicted, Raoul suspected, by a push into the rough wall of the alley. It looked like one of the protruding bricks had been the cause. It was deep. Raoul stood up to grab a candle from the kitchen, which he lit with shaking fingers. He threaded a needle, ran it through the flame and took a deep breath. He tried to stop his fingers from shaking. He squeezed the cut shut and inserted the needle into Erik’s skin. He sewed quickly. Gustave said nothing. When Raoul finished he dropped the needle, shocked by what he had just done. He wrapped a bandage around Erik’s head. Erik hadn’t said anything through the whole procedure. His chest was still rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Raoul suddenly felt useless. He had done all he could and now had no idea what to do. Gustave settled himself beside the bed. Out of something to do rather than anything else, Raoul stood Gustave up and took him to the bathroom. “You should clean up,” he said quietly. 

Gustave nodded mutely. As Raoul closed the bathroom door he thought he heard a muffled sob. Raoul went back to Erik’s room and settled himself beside the bed. Erik’s eyes were closed. Raoul exhaled, tipping his head back. He felt exhausted tears spike in his eyes. “Dammit,” Raoul muttered. Gustave couldn’t lose another parent. He just couldn’t. Raoul realized he was still wearing his blood covered shirt and went to get a replacement. When he came back Gustave was kneeling beside Erik’s bed. 

“You should get some rest, Gustave,” Raoul said quietly. 

“I don’t want to.”

“It will do you good. Look, you’re exhausted.”

Gustave reluctantly stood up and walked with Raoul to his room. He stopped on the doorstep and turning to Raoul whispered, “I don’t want Papa to die.”

Raoul hugged him tightly. “Papa is tough,” he said with more conviction than he felt. “He’ll make it. He will.”

“Why does everyone keep getting hurt?” whimpered Gustave into Raoul’s chest. 

Raoul held his son because he didn’t have an answer. Eventually Gustave pulled himself away and shut the door. Raoul went back to Erik’s bedside. Why did people get hurt, he wondered. Erik looked even more pale in the dim light. Raoul sat down beside him and put his head in his hands. 

“You don’t die, you hear me? You don’t die. You don’t get to die. You don’t get to die, you great booby. You don’t die.”

Realizing the futility of saying this, Raoul stopped. The emptiness was oppressive. He felt a sob building in his chest and heaved it out. He didn’t care about Erik, not really, but he’d become such a constant, a known nuisance. Imagining a life without him in it felt empty. Raoul rubbed at his eyes, cursing to himself. He dozed in and out of sleep, each time waking he lurched up to check on Erik, but the other man’s condition didn’t change. Dawn was finally starting to crest the horizon. Raoul’s eyes had become baggy, his hair a mess. He sat on the ground, wondering if checking on Erik was even worth it. Pulling himself out of his funk he got onto his knees to peer at Erik. Erik’s eyes were open and looking at him. 

“You look like shit,” Erik whispered as Raoul stared at him disbelieving. Raoul choked out a laugh. 

“You look dead.”

“I feel dead.”

“Well you’re not. I’ve forbidden you.”

Erik’s face cracked into a pained smile. “Oh you did, did you?”

“I should get Gustave. He’ll be overjoyed to see you.”

Raoul stood up. He felt Erik’s fingers wind themselves around his own. Raoul turned back. Erik was looking out the window. Raoul stared at their hands, then back at Erik. 

“You disobeyed me,” said Erik. “But it probably saved my life.”

He dropped Raoul’s hand. Raoul stood in place a moment longer then went to wake Gustave. 

Gustave opened the door rubbing red, bleary eyes. He had obviously spent a mostly sleepless night as well. “He’s better,” said Raoul and couldn’t stop himself from grinning. 

Gustave’s face lit up and he booked it into Erik’s room, almost tripping on the carpet on the way. 

“Papa!”

“Good morning Gustave.”

Gustave hugged his father and Erik hissed but wrapped his arms around his son. Gustave was crying. Raoul leaned back against the wall watching them. Then he realized that he should probably make breakfast, at the same time realizing that he didn’t want to make breakfast because he was exhausted.

Raoul had just received letters from his sisters asking if they and their families could stay for Christmas. Raoul had agreed without really thinking about it. Gustave was very excited upon hearing the news, Erik less so. 

“I have to cook for how many?” he asked, incredulous.

“It’s not that many, it’s my sister Marie, her husband, their daughter and my other sister Ola, her husband and their two kids.”

“That’s seven more people! How are we supposed to house seven more people? We don’t even have a guest room!”

This was true, because Erik had taken the guest room when he’d started living with Raoul and Gustave. Raoul furrowed his brow. “Well,” he said eventually, but decisively. “The kids can all sleep in Gustave’s room. There are some mattresses in storage we can pull out. Ola and Henri can take my room, Marie and Louis can take the guest room.”

“That’s my room.”

“They’re guests! You give up your room for guests, it’s only polite!” 

This was the first Christmas Raoul would be hosting at his house after Christine had died. The past Christmases had been at his sisters’ houses. Erik hadn’t attended any of them, which had disappointed Gustave. Raoul was pretty sure his sisters were interested in this other father that Gustave sometimes talked about, though he’d tried to limit their knowledge of Erik’s existence as much as possible. 

“Where am I supposed to sleep then?” grumbled Erik. 

“We can share the living room. That’s what Christine and I did.”

“That’s all well and good, except that I’m incredibly ugly.”

“Oh grow up, Erik!” exploded Raoul. “There’s doors! Just get up early! It’s not that big a deal!”

“‘Share the living room’,” grumbled Erik. “Fine. But if I give you nightmares, it’s your fault.”

Raoul snorted. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. Dream about you. Please.”

Erik gave him a vicious glare before stalking away. Raoul heard him muttering expletives under his breath.

The day his sisters arrived was a flurry of activity. Raoul and Gustave had set up the rooms. Erik returned from a day of shopping laden down with groceries and obviously overwhelmed. Gustave helped him prepare dinner. It was just turning six when Raoul’s sisters arrived. The house immediately became overrun with people. Raoul kissed each of his sisters, shook their husbands’ hands, gave his nieces and nephew a squeeze and helped them carry their bags into their rooms. Gustave got distracted and went off to run around with his cousins. Erik closed all the doors to the kitchen to keep everyone out, which Raoul tried to convince him was unfair as giving everyone a drink was only polite, but upon seeing how frazzled Erik looked under his mask decided it was best if he just grabbed glasses and left. Dinner was served over idle chatter. Raoul sat at the head of the table and Erik sat near the end trying to keep his head down and be as inconspicuous as possible. After dinner and desert Erik went to wash the dishes, leaving Raoul and his siblings to talk. Raoul could tell that they were politely avoiding asking him about the strange man he was living with, but that they desperately wanted to so he brought it up first. 

“I suppose you want to know what the deal with Erik is,” he said.

Marie took the offered conversation and plunged right in. “Is that the mysterious ‘Papa’ Gustave sometimes talks about?”

“Yes.”

“Why does he call him that? You are his father after all. It’s not like you’re married.”

Raoul sighed. He’d been afraid that this would be the assumption his sisters would jump to. 

“Don’t be silly Marie,” Ola cut in. “Of course it’s not like that. Raoul spent so long pining after Christine, don’t you remember?”

“Alright,” said Raoul. “Alright. Look, it’s like this.”

He went on to describe how Erik had been his rival, the whole affair thing, and their decision after Christine’s death. His sisters had dubious looks on their faces when he described how Erik had wanted to raise Gustave too, and Raoul realized jealously that if he told them everything he knew about Erik that they would help him get rid of Erik once and for all. But he also knew that Erik wouldn’t leave without putting up a fight, and that if he did leave Gustave would not be happy. So he stayed quiet and described his and Erik’s relationship in the simplest terms possible. 

When he had finished there was a silence at the table. At last Louis said, “You’re a much more honourable man than most people, Raoul. It’s not everyone who could forgive a rival like that.”

This comment started a string of compliments which soon evolved into a conversation about society and politics. Raoul excused himself and headed for the kitchen, where he found Erik head in hands with his elbows on the counter. 

“I hate Christmas,” said Erik when Raoul entered.

“No you don’t.”

“Did your family ask about me?”

Raoul leaned back against the counter next to Erik and stayed silent. Erik took his head out of his hands and peered at Raoul. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth.”

“Mm. Good.”

“Good?”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hm, no, I wish you’d told your family that you’re in a homosexual relationship with some man’?”

“Be glad I didn’t tell them that.”

“You could have told them I was a servant you hired after Christine died and that Gustave just likes me.”

“Well I didn’t, did I?”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.”

Neither man said anything for a minute. Finally Erik turned to the dishes, sighed, and rolled up his sleeves. Unable to contain himself Raoul furiously burst out, “Why does it seem like everyone expects us to be in a relationship?”

Erik shook his head. “I hate it as much as you do.”

“There is nothing like that between us! Nothing!”

“There is us sharing a living room.”

Raoul clenched his jaw. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

Erik gave a delicate shrug. “Hey, it was your idea.”

“What other choice did I have?”

“I could have stayed at a hotel.”

“You could have suggested that earlier!”

“I guess I didn’t, did I? How long until everyone goes to bed do you think? I’m exhausted.”

“It could be a long while yet.”

There was a pause. Raoul said, “I could get some wine” at the same time as Erik said, “Get them all something to drink.”

Raoul nodded and headed for the cellar. 

“Get me a drink too, would you?” asked Erik as he left. “God knows I need it.”

It was nearly ten by the time the children were put to bed, and the adults went to bed soon after, tired by their day of travel. Erik finally came out of the kitchen. He joined Raoul in the bathroom to brush his teeth, which he did with his back to the mirror. Raoul and Erik then headed to the living room. Raoul closed the doors softly. Erik was fishing under one of the couches for his nightshirt, which he’d stashed there in preparation for being unable to enter his room. Raoul pulled off his shirt. 

“Couldn’t you wait until I’m out of the room?” squalked Erik. 

“It’s just a shirt,” said Raoul. “Besides, where are you going to go?”

“I was thinking the bathroom.”

Raoul surveyed Erik, who was determinedly not looking at him. “Huh,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were this squeamish when it came to privacy.”

“I’m not squeamish, I’m just … decently-minded.”

Raoul snorted and began to remove his pants. Erik quickly turned his back on him. 

“Did you even bring a nightshirt, Chagny?”

“No,” replied Raoul. “I was just going to sleep in my underwear.”

Erik buried his face in his nightshirt. “I regret this more and more.”

“Oh relax, we’re both men. Surely you’ve seen almost naked people before in your strange and mysterious life.”

“Of course I have,” spat Erik saltily. “It doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You must really have been fun to sleep with then.”

Erik flushed. “Fine!” he growled, pulling off his shirt with more violence than necessary. “I’ll change here then!”

“I wasn’t stopping you going to the bathroom,” said Raoul. 

Erik flushed even more and mumbled curse words under his breath. Raoul sighed and started laying a blanket over the couch he was going to sleep on. Erik tugged on his nightshirt before removing his pants. He then folded his clothes next to his couch and lay on it. Raoul reached for the light by his head and turned it off. 

“You don’t have to be quite so touchy,” he said into the darkness.

He heard Erik shift on his couch. Raoul sighed and lay his head back on his arm. 

“I used to be shown off as a curiosity. I had to stand in a cage and people would ogle at me. And some would scream and others would make faces of disgust. So of course I’m touchy.”

Raoul had heard about this from Madame Giry, but had forgotten about it. “Oh,” he said.

There was a moment of silence. Raoul closed his eyes, then heard Erik admit quietly, “My father never even saw me and my mother made me a mask.”

Raoul stayed silent, feigning sleep, but he considered what Erik had said. He couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for Erik. It would be incredibly depressing to have your parents hate you. Eventually Raoul and Erik fell asleep. 

Erik woke up first. The light that came in through the curtains woke him up. He was sensitive to light. Raoul was still asleep, one arm tossed over his eyes and drooling slightly. Erik quietly unfolded his clothes and began to get dressed. He heard Raoul stir behind him. 

“Oh god, where… what time is it?”

“Good morning,” said Erik quietly. “Merry Christmas.”

Raoul snorted. “I think I broke my neck.”

“I think that’s impossible.”

Raoul sat up, cursing and rubbing his sore neck. Erik folded up his nightshirt and tucked it back under the couch then threw Raoul his own clothes. 

“Come on, get dressed. It’s Christmas, and you don’t know how long the children are going to sleep for.”

He wandered over to the curtains and threw them open. The ground was white and the sky was clear. Raoul hissed at the intrusion of sunlight. “Do you mind? I’m not even dressed yet!”

Erik closed the curtains again, then went over to pick his mask up off a side table and put it on. Raoul was still sitting blearily on the couch. 

“I thought you wanted to get dressed. Chop chop!”

“I don’t want me to get dressed, you want me to get dressed.”

“Oh get dressed, then I can stop staring at your hairy chest.”

Raoul flexed at Erik. “Yes, my distractingly strong hairy chest.”

“Don’t delude yourself. It’s gross.”

Raoul smiled, “You’re gross.”

“Now that was uncalled for.”

Raoul grinned again and stood up. Erik politely meandered over to the window again. 

“If I’d known you were this easily put off I’d have confronted you in just my underwear.”

“And what a scandal you’d have made of yourself.”

Erik peeked out the window again. The world outside wasn’t awake yet, and everything was still fresh and clean. It didn’t give away how awful humanity could be, but in a few hours humanity would have walked all over it and mucked it up like they did everything else. Erik turned away from the window towards Raoul, then immediately back. 

“Can you please put your damn pants on!”

Raoul looked up from buttoning his shirt. He saw Erik’s tense posture and laughed. “What,” he said, approaching Erik. “Do I really embarrass you that much?”

“One more step and I will strangle you.”

“With what? You don’t keep your punjab lasso down your pants, do you? Though that might explain a lot.”

“And just what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“You better not.”

Raoul finished dressing and went to stand beside Erik. Erik flinched. There were sounds of the house waking up. Erik groaned. “Oh, god, I need to start making breakfast, don’t I?”

“I can help if you’d like.”

“Yes. Christmas miracle. I hate cooking for numbers, I’m going to be in the kitchen all day.”

Raoul followed Erik to the kitchen. They made breakfast and once everyone had eaten they all headed to the living room to give gifts. Erik detoured to, he claimed, go to the bathroom, but when he came back he hissed to Raoul, “They’ve been through my clothes.”

“Erik,” sighed Raoul, “you’re not even supposed to be going in your room while other people are staying in it. How do you even know they went through your clothes?”

“I know how I fold them, and that’s not how I fold them.”

Raoul shook his head. “We’re doing gifts now, so just forget about it.”

Erik sniffed. “Fine.”

Gift giving went well. The children happily played with their new toys while Erik prepared a late lunch. One of the toys inevitably broke, resulting in tears and had to be glued back together. The rest of the day passed calmly, though conversations between Erik and Raoul’s relatives were always somewhat strained. Since Erik spent most of his time in the kitchen there weren’t that many of them. After dinner, Gustave volunteered to play some violin for his family, which soon resulted in him convincing his dads to play a trio with him. Raoul had the easiest part, as he was not a musical protege, but the whole family was very impressed. Then they sang some hymns and carols, which Erik was very good at. The family was a lot more at ease with him after finding something he was good at. Marie even commented about Erik’s singing to Raoul, and Raoul had to agree that yes, Erik was good at singing and sincerely hoped that Marie was not implying more with that statement than the obvious. They stayed up later on Christmas than they had the night before, and when finally everyone had gone to bed and Raoul and Erik had brushed their teeth they were worn out. Once back in the living room Erik flopped down on his couch. Raoul watched him. 

“So do you still hate Christmas?”

Erik laughed. “No. The spirit of the festivities is getting to me.”

Raoul sat down next to him. Erik didn’t complain, which Raoul took as a sign that the sense of well-being that came with Christmas really was getting to him. Raoul and Erik stared at the diminishing fire. 

“You have a nice family.”

Raoul looked at him startled. “You really think so?” 

“Why shouldn’t I? They’ve treated me respectfully. The children and Gustave get along well. They make you smile. They’re supportive.”

“Such burgeoning praise!”

“Oh shut up.” Erik slapped him, then settled back. “I’m just saying it’s nice.”

Raoul remembered Erik’s comment about his own family the night before. He gingerly put his arm around Erik’s shoulders.

“Chagny, what are you doing?”

“It’s Christmas. I’m giving you a hug.”

“Please don’t.”

“Mmmm nope.”

Raoul kept his arm awkwardly around Erik. His heart hammered nervously from being this close to the other man. Why was he keeping this up? Why didn’t Erik push him away? Erik’s posture indicated that he was also slightly uncomfortable. Raoul was just debating pulling his arm away when Erik lay his head on Raoul’s shoulder. Raoul swallowed, startled. His heart pounded even harder. Both men stared fixedly at the fire, neither completely sure why they were maintaining this embarrassingly intimate facade. Finally Erik jerked away, standing up to put out the fire. Raoul felt a stab of disappointment that he couldn’t fathom. He stood up too. Neither of them spoke as they got changed and settled down to bed. “Goodnight,” said Raoul as he turned off the light. 

“Goodnight,” Erik replied stiffly. “Merry Christmas.”

The next morning shone bright and clear. Both Raoul and Erik got dressed foggily and prepared breakfast in a haze of sleep. After breakfast Raoul’s sisters left, with a lot of hugs on the part of the children. The house felt empty after they had all gone, so Raoul, Erik, and Gustave went to the park. Neither Raoul or Erik discussed what had happened the night before, and it soon became just another memory. 

Raoul blearily rubbed shaving cream onto his face. He hadn’t slept all that well, and though he was glad to get out of bed he was still feeling tired. He blinked at himself in the mirror and rubbed at his eyes, which accidentally got shaving cream around them. He wet a washcloth and wiped it off. Picking up the shaving knife he opened the blade and put it to his neck. In the mirror his reflection shimmered from the sleep still clinging to his eyes. He blinked his eyes to clear them, bit his tongue, and started to slide the knife up his neck, peeling away stubble and white foam in a smooth line. There came a knock at the bathroom door. It startled Raoul and his hand slipped. The knife nicked his neck, drawing a drop of blood. 

“Who is it?” Raoul bellowed at the door.

“Erik,” came the voice from the other side. 

Raoul sighed and put the knife back on the sink ledge. “What do you want?”

“I want to bathe. How long are you going to be?”

“A long, long time. Go away.”

There was a silence on the other side of the door. Then Erik asked somewhat guardedly, “What are you doing?”

“Shaving.” Raoul picked up the knife then put it down again. “Go away so I can focus.”

He heard Erik huff. Raoul raised the blade again and set it by his collarbone. He slid it up by his adam’s apple, holding his breath. 

“Does it really take you that long to shave?” Erik asked peevishly on the other side of the door. Raoul nicked himself again and cursed. 

“Go away Erik!”

“I’m not even doing anything!”

“You’re distracting me!” Raoul grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed at the new spot of blood. 

“Is shaving really that difficult?”

“What do you mean ‘is shaving really that difficult’?”

“Well it’s just a knife.”

Sleep and annoyance crowded into Raoul’s brain. “If you’re such an expert, why don’t you show me how it’s done?” he growled at the door.

The door creaked open and Erik stepped inside. He was wearing his nightshirt and had some clothes folded under his arm, which he put down beside the wash basin. He reached past Raoul and grabbed the knife. “Fine,” Erik glowered at him. 

Raoul glowered back, wondering why Erik was just standing there and not lathering his face with shaving cream. Inspecting Erik’s face he acknowledged that Erik didn’t have any facial hair and his eyes slid to Erik’s collar, wondering if he was going to shave his chest. Erik saw his eyes roving and yanked the collar of his shirt tight against his neck with a fist. Raoul remembered that Erik’s chest wasn’t very hairy either and his mind was stumbling around what exactly Erik was going to shave when Erik said, “Sit down.”

“Down?”

“Yes.” Erik gestured to the edge of the tub. “Sit.”

Raoul sat, confused. Erik still had his hand clasped tightly around his nightshirt and the other was holding the knife in a death grip. Raoul glanced down at Erik’s legs which stuck out of the bottom of his nightshirt like twigs. The hemline brushed his knees. Compared to the twiginess of his legs, Erik’s feet stood out as being too humanoid by comparison. Raoul leaned forward to see if Erik’s legs had any hair. Maybe Erik was going to shave his legs. Erik’s palm connected with his forehead and pushed it back with more violence than was strictly necessary. In the face of that stony expression Raoul felt like he needed some excuse and blurted out, “But what are you shaving?”

“I’m shaving your face,” Erik responded in a voice edged in hostility. “Obviously.”

“My face?”

“Yes. Sit still.”

Raoul felt Erik’s cold fingertips play along his chin, tilting his head back and he felt a sudden jolt of panic. “But you’ve never shaved before!”

Erik’s slate-faced response didn’t do much to calm Raoul’s nerves. “No,” Erik acknowledged. “But I am very good with dangerous items.”

He twisted the knife around his fingers in a show of agility that just made Raoul more nervous. He gulped, and felt Erik’s thumb move to his adam’s apple as if to keep it still. Breath shallow, Raoul gripped the rim of the tub he was sitting on. He felt the cold brush of the knife against his skin and closed his eyes. Erik’s breath played across his face, cool where the shaving cream was. He heard Erik wipe off the knife’s edge, then felt it back against his neck. Steadily the blade moved across his neck until Raoul felt safe enough to talk without the danger of this movement causing Erik to slit his throat. The tub was digging painfully into his legs. He opened his eyes again. Erik was leaning over him, a look of concentration on his skeletal face. His tongue was poking from between his thin lips. The pink of it stood out against his pale lips in a strange way. Erik leaned back to clean the knife again, rolling his head on his shoulders to stretch his neck. He studied Raoul’s jaw, sucking in his cheek as he did so, then noticed that Raoul had opened his eyes. His eyes trailed away from Raoul’s back to Raoul’s jaw. Erik bent over Raoul again, pushing Raoul’s face gently to the left and slightly up with his fingertips. As Erik moved the knife over his cheek Raoul felt Erik’s fingers drift unconsciously downwards, just a little, to just below his jawbone. Erik’s neckline had fallen open again as he leaned over Raoul and Raoul could see tight muscles in Erik’s neck, the divet between his collarbones. Then he felt awkward staring down the other man’s shirt and looked away. 

“So..,” started Raoul, clasping his hands in his lap to ease the awkwardness that seemed to be hanging in the air.

“Shut u-up,” Erik muttered, in a slightly sing-songy way. 

“Why can’t I talk?”

Erik sighed, resting his thumb under Raoul’s chin and using it to tilt Raoul’s head to the right. “I don’t want to nick you. I’m proving a point.”

“I thought you’d have taken all the opportunities to nick me that are presented,” Raoul responded coyly, raising his eyebrow at Erik. 

Erik met his gaze briefly, with an expression that neared indifference. Their faces were so close that even in the light of the bathroom Raoul could make out the colour of Erik’s eyes. Gold. Then Erik looked away again and Raoul realized with a start that he could make out Erik’s eyelashes. They were long and dark and he didn’t know why he’d never noticed before, or why he’d assumed Erik didn’t have eyelashes. No, he knew why he’d never noticed Erik’s eyelashes: because they never got that close to each other without having more important things to focus on, like ripping each other’s throats out. Raoul stared at Erik’s eyes some more, watching his eyes flit over Raoul’s face, watching his eyelashes flutter. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to nick you, it’s just that you’d have a fit if I did,” Erik said. He glanced up at Raoul again. “And we agreed to put aside petty squabbles.”

“Oh,” said Raoul. “Right.” He felt slightly flustered. Erik stepped back to clean the knife again. He set it down and leaned his head back, rubbing the tendons that were getting stiff. The loose sleeves slipped down to his elbows. The collar of his shirt was hanging down his chest again and Erik self consciously pulled it back up. 

“You know, that’s not going to be much use.”

Erik looked up from adjusting the shirt on his shoulders. “What is?”

“Adjusting your shirt. It’s just going to fall again when you lean back over me.”

Erik stared down at his shirt. Raoul thought he saw Erik flush slightly, but in the bright washed out light he wasn’t sure. Erik took a hold of Raoul’s chin again and tipped it upwards. “Well don’t look at me,” he said.

Raoul looked away, feeling a little embarrassed that he already had. Could he help it if the way Erik’s body looked was a little fascinating? Erik’s thumb tugged at Raoul’s lip to get at the stubble that was above it. Raoul looked back at Erik. He found that he was breathing lightly for some reason, and that this close to the other man he felt a little nervous. He wanted to move. Erik glanced up at him as if he recognized Raoul’s urge and Raoul fought it down, keeping himself as still as possible. Raoul closed his eyes. The warmed metal of the knife moved along his upper lip. The pressure of Erik’s thumb upon his lip felt strange. His thumb was cold, and rubbed along Raoul’s lip away from the knife, then when Erik was almost done traced back to the centre of Raoul’s lips. It felt almost like he was kissing Erik’s thumb, and Raoul had the strange urge to actually do it, to actually press his lips against the cool pad of Erik’s thumb, responding to pressure with pressure. Erik lifted the knife from Raoul’s skin, his thumb trailing down Raoul’s lower lip then disappearing. Raoul let out a slow breath, his heart hammering. He let his head fall down. 

“Raoul,” said Erik, “I still need to get your chin.”

Raoul looked up at him. Something Erik had said. It had surprised him. It took him a second to realize what it was. “You called me Raoul.”

“...What?” Erik’s brows creased. His voice was quiet, nearly breathy.

“You normally call me Chagny. You called me Raoul.”

Erik shook his head. “What difference does it make?”

Raoul opened his mouth then closed it again. Did it make a difference? It seemed to. “It’s less… formal,” he supplied lamely. Less formal. More intimate. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter.” 

He looked away. He had liked the way it sounded, though, he thought as Erik took ahold of his chin again. He had liked the way it sounded when Erik said it, the way he shaped the vowels. Raoul flushed furiously, embarrassed at the disappointment he felt, glad Erik was too focused on his chin to notice the colour in his cheeks. Erik pressed a forefinger into the base of Raoul’s lower lip to get at the stubble underneath. Raoul breathed through his nose and focused on the ceiling, tense. 

“There,” Erik breathed at last, twisting Raoul’s face from side to side to see if he had missed anything. “Done.”

Raoul looked back at him. Erik’s fingers were still cold against his face. He studied Erik’s face: the short, almost nonexistent nose, the sunken cheeks, the straight brows. Erik’s eyes stared into his own, and there was something about them that seemed less hostile than before. Erik blinked, his long eyelashes moving in the shadows of the hollows of his eye sockets. Raoul looked at Erik’s lips. There wasn’t anything wrong with them, not really. They were just thinner and paler than most lips. So thin. He was tempted to lean forward to study them better. Erik’s fingers were still holding Raoul’s chin. Raoul exhaled slowly. 

“Raoul,” gasped Erik. The word grated out from his throat, husky and deep. 

Raoul inhaled sharply, drawing his head back, away from Erik’s fingers. He stood up, brushed past Erik and turned on the tap. The water on his face felt cold and good, a sharp wake up. He dried his face on a towel and turned back to face Erik, who was still holding the knife loosely in one hand. He quickly slid it shut and set it back on the sink counter. 

“So,” said Erik snidely, setting his hands on his hips. “Guess I proved my point?”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “Enjoy your bath,” he said, turning to leave. “And pull up your shirt.”

He left the bathroom, leaving Erik to stare angrily after him, feeling somewhat resentful himself. 

Raoul had decided to grow a mustache and Erik hated it. He didn’t have a completely solid reason for hating it, but he hated it nonetheless. Maybe because it always looked like Raoul had just drunk a glass of milk, or because Gustave thought it was weird but also said it looked good, or because it sat on Raoul’s upper lip like a haughty, indignant caterpillar, or because Erik couldn’t grow a mustache to save his life. If Erik growing a mustache had been necessary to save the world, the world would die. Erik despised the mustache’s existence so much that he debated sneaking into Raoul’s room as he slept and shaving it off. He could probably have pulled it off, but thinking it through it was more than likely that Raoul would wake up and see Erik crouched over him with a razor blade, and that could lead accidentally to Raoul’s demise if Erik wasn’t careful. So Erik just despised it from a distance. During one of these times he blurted out: “What do you think I’d look like with a mustache?”

Raoul and Gustave, who were trying to complete a puzzle, looked up, started. “I don’t know,” said Raoul. “Ugly?”

Erik glared at him. Gustave, sensing the possibility of an oncoming fight, said, “You just don’t really have the face for it, Papa.” 

Even though he knew Gustave was trying to be nice the comment stung. 

“Gustave’s right,” Raoul said, turning back to the puzzle. 

“Well if I had the face then,” Erik huffed. “What would I look like?”

Gustave studied him. “You’d have… a nose,” he waved a hand at Erik. Erik slumped down in his chair. 

“It’s hard to explain it to you, since you don’t even know how you look now,” Raoul stood up and headed toward his office. He returned with pencils and paper. “I’ll draw it for you.” 

He cleared a small area at the table and faced Erik. Erik sat up straight. Gustave grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil as well. He stared down at the blank sheet of paper. 

“What colour hair do you want Papa?”

“Colour? Uh, brown, like yours.”

Gustave smiled and tugged at his hair, pleased. Raoul grumbled, “Stop moving.” 

Erik sat up straight again. Gustave drew his image a lot quicker than Raoul. When he was finished he brought it over to Erik for his approval. Erik took the drawing. Gustave hadn’t really changed how his face looked: there were still dark holes where his eyes should be, but he did have a nose and a very fancy mustache as well as a mop of hair. It made Erik smile. “Thanks Gustave, it looks great.”

“Thanks,” Gustave grinned. “I’m not the best at drawing, but I tried.”

“You’ll get better with practice,” said Raoul. He was bent over his picture. He sucked in his cheek, then asked, “What shape are your eyes?”

“Round?”

Raoul huffed. “No, Erik, the shape.”

“Eyeballs are round, Raoul.”

“I know that.”

“I’ve seen them, they’re quite round.”

“You’ve seen eyeballs?” Gustave cut in. 

“No he hasn’t,” Raoul argued, standing and approaching Erik. 

“Yes I have, I’ve seen people who could pop their eyeballs out and back in again.”

“Ew,” Gustave grinned. 

Raoul tipped his chin towards the ceiling. “Don’t try it Gustave.” He stopped in front of Erik. “Look up.”

“What?”

“I need to see your eyes. Look at me.”

Raoul bent down, taking Erik’s face in his hands to study it. His thumbs rested on Erik’s cheekbones like he could pull Erik’s eyes forward by tugging on his skin. Raoul stared into Erik’s eyes, focused. He tried to stare back, but the intensity in Raoul’s stare made him uncomfortable. Erik stared at Raoul’s mustache instead, the stupid little insect. It moved when Raoul twisted his lips and unfortunately looked rather good on him. Erik wondered what it felt like to grow a mustache. It was probably itchy. Hair was just itchy in general. He had very little hair, but it sometimes got itchy. Although Raoul did have very fine hair, so maybe that made a difference. He wondered if it tickled when Raoul kissed people. He could ask Gustave, Raoul sometimes kissed his forehead. 

Raoul released Erik’s face and went back to his drawing. Erik heaved a sigh and slumped down. 

“Sit up,” Raoul immediately reprimanded him. Erik furrowed his brow but straightened up again. 

At last, Raoul gave his drawing one last cursory glance and handed it over for Erik’s inspection. To Erik’s surprise, it marginally resembled Gustave’s drawing. He was also rather shocked at how good Raoul was at drawing. Raoul had drawn a thin-faced, sallow man with a thin, upturned nose, prominent cheekbones and sunken, angular, pale eyes shadowed by straight dark eyebrows. He’d given the drawing limp, scraggly dark hair pushed back from the forehead and a thin mustache. Small ears poked from the side of the man’s head, barely visible. Erik could see himself in the drawing: the bone structure, the ears, probably the eyes too, but it was a version of him that was less distorted than the original. 

“Let me see!” said Gustave, and Erik mutely held up the image beside his face for comparison. Gustave raised his eyebrows. “Dang, you’re really good at drawing, Father. It looks like Papa but … more normal.” 

Erik laughed, forcedly. To be honest, the drawing scared him a little, hollowed him out. He wanted to look like that, not handsome, not by the longest shot, but normal. His life would have been so different if he’d been normal. Raoul scowled when Erik laughed and held out his hand. “I’ll take it if you don’t like it.” 

“No, I do like it, I just…,” Erik trailed away, tugging at his ear and studying the drawing. He handed it back to Raoul. It would do no good to stare at it, it couldn’t change anything. 

There was a moment of silence. Gustave broke it, trying to lighten the mood by saying, “You can do me next. What I’d look like with a mustache.”

Erik, Raoul, and Gustave were at an art museum. Erik was once again dressed as a woman, and he and Gustave were a lot more interested in the art than Raoul was. It wasn’t that Raoul didn’t like art, it was just that he admired it as something nice to look at, while Erik and Gustave would linger over pieces and talk about strange things like ‘the mood’ or ‘the sadness in someone’s eyes’ or ‘how the painter was a little insane’. Like they were art connoisseurs. Raoul didn’t really understand the paintings they would spend the longest time looking over. There was always something dark about them that made him turn away, something in the lonely, broken, emotions that emanated from dark paintings. Raoul preferred the paintings of flowers, or the beach, or a picnic. Simple pictures without all the moral ambiguity. 

“What about this painting?” he asked Gustave and Erik when he couldn’t stand how long they were looking at a weirdly depressing still life. “This one is pretty.”

“Yes,” said Erik, giving it a cursory glance. “Pretty.” 

Raoul felt a little rejected and so tried to sound cool. “The strokes of the paintbrush are quite masterful.”

A tiny smirk played at the corners of Erik’s lips, and Raoul turned away, embarrassed. Gustave stepped up beside him. “Yes,” Gustave agreed, partly in an attempt to make Raoul feel better. “The brush strokes are very precise. Notice how the colours are not blended and each stroke is a different colour?” 

Gustave’s attempt worked. Erik rolled his eyes and went back to studying gloomier paintings. “It lacks depth,” he said bluntly.

“How? You see two different things depending on how far away you stand. Either a pond or lots of colour.”

Erik sighed and shook his head, which only made Raoul feel worse. Raoul glowered at the painting. He didn’t get it. He would much rather hang up a pretty picture than a picture of someone in agony, never mind how much ‘depth’ it had. It bugged Raoul for the rest of the day, but he only brought it up again once Gustave had gone to bed. 

“What do you have against pretty pictures anyway?”

Erik looked at him, confused. He had long since changed out of his dress. “What?”

“Things that are pretty. Why don’t you like them?”

Erik stared at him until comprehension finally dawned. “Ohhh, you’re talking about the paintings.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“It’s not that I don’t like pretty things, I do, but they just- visual beauty is shallow. It’s simple. In the day, all people think about is simple visual beauty and there is so much more than that.”

“So, basically you don’t like pretty things because you’re ugly.”

Erik glowered at him. Air huffed through his nose and then Erik said, “Come outside.”

“Why?” Raoul asked, already following him. 

“Because I’m going to show you what you’re missing in your pitiful daylight-oriented mind.”

They stepped outside. The night air was cool, and there was a slight breeze blowing. Erik grabbed the gutter spout that ran down the side of the house and danced up it onto the roof. The pinpricks of his eyes glowed at Raoul, and Erik jerked his head beckoning Raoul to follow. Raoul sighed and hauled himself up. It was a lot harder than Erik made it look. Erik leaned over and gripped Raoul’s forearms, hauling him up onto the roof. Raoul shivered. In the darkness, he could see the gas lamps sprinkling the streets. With the stars above and gaslights below he felt like he was floating or falling in space. Erik stood across from him, barely a silhouette. When he spoke his voice was soft, gentle. 

“In the daylight, all people ever care about is how something looks. It’s colour, it’s apparent vibrance. All other senses are applied only to enhance the beauty of the visual apparition. It is all very real, a surface you can see and touch, but in night time… in night time you don’t have that. There is no one thing to admire. Without sight as a guide everything becomes more fluid. Each sense is required to act for itself, it is heightened, every little touch or scent, each little sound or taste, it is picked up more acutely. In the darkness everything is separated, and yet must all work together. Each sense a strand, weaving in and out of each other, making infinite tapestries. Each little imperfection can be picked out and held close, cradled in the knowledge that it is each individuality that makes each sense come alive. In darkness the nose can catch all that is ignored in the day. Sweat, perfume, the odour of the night air. Every breath, every sigh, each noise that in the day is quiet comes alive at night. The rustle of fabric, the wet opening of a mouth, a beating heart. Your tongue can pick up each separate flavour, each gradient, can taste the different textures of what you hold in your mouth. Do you ever taste your words? In the darkness words are a delicacy, precisely chosen, sweet like honey. Soft words that spiral around and touch upon every surface. In the daylight touch is most utilized in the hands, but at night you can feel everything. Everywhere. Sight does nothing but dim the senses. In darkness they are allowed to flourish.” 

Erik’s voice ended, strong and resounding. Sonorous. When it was gone the world around Raoul seemed a lot emptier. He took a deep breath, searing his chest with cool night air, gasping. Erik was watching him still, and it made Raoul feel exposed, like Erik could sense the blood pumping in his veins and flushing of discomfort in his cheeks. But Erik couldn’t see him, no more than Raoul could see Erik, so Raoul took a moment to collect himself. 

“Seems very… sexual,” his voice crashed into the quiet night. 

Erik laughed, a sound that seemed to rub against Raoul’s ears the wrong way. “It’s not sexual, it’s sensual. Though they are easily confused. Sex can be sensual.” 

“...Right.”

Raoul bobbed on his feet. The cool night air felt good on his skin, relieving the heat of discomfort that swirled in his stomach. 

“Something sensual does not involve the aspect of sexual attraction,” Erik explained, and Raoul could swear he was smiling even though he couldn’t see. “It can, but it can also be the gratification of the senses for the sake of sensual pleasure alone.” 

Raoul took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to calm the sparking of his nerves. This was not the conversation he had imagined having with Erik. He had imagined something about emotional pain and suffering, not a talk about sensuality that was in itself somewhat sensual. He did not rock on his feet. He just tried to appreciate the breeze on the back of his neck and under his chin and not focus on how clenched his stomach felt. 

“You’re embarrassed,” Erik guessed from Raoul’s silence. 

“I’m not. I dozed off.”

Erik was in his element and Raoul was not. Raoul felt like a fish out of water. Or a sailor pulled beneath the water by mermaids. It was hard to breath. 

“Put out your hand,” Erik instructed. His voice was gentle, too gentle. Raoul stuck out his arm quickly, feeling high-strung. Erik touched the tips of his fingers to Raoul’s and Raoul swallowed, trying not to let his hand shake. 

“It’s hard to appreciate the night if you don’t relax.”

“Maybe I don’t want to relax. Maybe I don’t want to be involved in your creepy sensual world.” 

Erik was definitely toying with him. Definitely toying with him and enjoying it. But Raoul didn’t lower his arm, and he felt Erik’s fingertips trail down the soft flesh on the inside of his fingers to the center of his palm. Each tiny catch lit up his nerves and sent foggy arrows into his brain. His fingers curled involuntarily. He brushed Erik’s knuckles and Erik deftly wound their fingers together so that their hands were pressed palm to palm. Raoul’s heart was pounding. He felt incredibly flustered, more so because Erik was probably not. This was the worst. This was the absolute worst. It was the worst, because he felt so unteathered that Erik could have instructed him to do any number of stupid or embarrassing things and he probably would have done it no questions asked. It was the worst, because Erik could have touched Raoul’s chin and Raoul would have kissed him just to feel it. It was the worst, because Raoul couldn’t tell whether he wanted to run as far away from Erik as possible or pull him closer. He gripped Erik’s hand. 

The cold breeze tickled his newly exposed skin as Erik pulled his hand away. Raoul’s fingers closed into a fist and his fist fell lamely to his side. He tried to calm his racing heart, to get his blood back in its everyday utilitarian rhythm instead of knocking around his body like a disoriented bird. Erik was still watching him. Raoul tipped his head back, glad for the darkness and all it could conseal. 

“I’m going to head in,” Raoul said abruptly. “I’m cold.” 

Erik didn’t follow him down the gutter spout, which Raoul was glad about. Raoul wanted to forget it. He wanted to forget all of it.

Gustave had agreed to allow his father to paint him on one condition: he could read a book. He didn’t fancy sitting still for hours with nothing to do. Raoul had agreed, so the day Raoul wanted to paint him Gustave grabbed the biggest book he could find and propped his glasses on the table beside him. Like Christine had been, Gustave was nearsighted. Raoul had put a plastic covering on the floor to avoid getting the carpet dirty and had set up an easel. When Erik saw what Raoul was doing he wanted to join in too. This bugged Raoul a little. 

“I’ve been painting and drawing for a long time you know,” he said saltily as Erik prepared his own easel. “So don’t expect to be better than me. This is the one art form that I excel at.” 

He brushed his hair back. Raoul had already run his hands through his hair a few times, making it less likely to stay as styled. Erik just shrugged, “I never said it was a contest.” 

He gave Raoul a wicked grin and pushed back the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his thin wrists. “Of course, now it will have to be.” 

Raoul grimaced. Great. Now making mistakes would be even more stressful. Raoul started with loose areas of colour. He glanced to the side and saw that Erik had started by painting his entire canvas black. 

“Painting something scandalous?” Raoul chided. 

“Only the night I had sex with your wife,” Erik shot back. He sucked on the end of his paintbrush and muttered, “I’ve only ever really done landscapes.”

“Here, I’ll help you,” Raoul got a dollop of light blue and smeared it onto Erik’s canvas. Erik cried out, causing Gustave to look up from his book. 

“What are you two doing?” he asked.

“Your Father just ruined my canvas,” Erik grumbled. 

“Can’t you just paint over it?”

Erik stared at the canvas for a long time before sullenly admitting, “Yes.” 

Gustave shrugged like he’d solved the problem and went back to reading. Erik and Raoul continued painting. In his peripheral vision Raoul noticed Erik sometimes taking a step back and glancing at his work. He stayed focused. After nearly an hour Erik stood back once more and said, “I can’t tell if it’s finished.” 

Raoul finished up the light glinting off Gustave’s glasses and stood back, admiring the pieces. Raoul’s was a lot warmer, the colours more pastel and soft. Erik’s painting, while the shapes might be a little more accurate especially around the edges had a dark undertone hinting through all the shadows. Neither piece looked exactly like the boy in front of them. 

Gustave looked up from his book. “Can I go to the bathroom now?” 

“Yeah,” Raoul scrutinized his piece some more, adding a tiny bit of colour here or there. Erik tapped his paintbrush against his chin, flecking his lip with paint. 

“I don’t know if I like it,” Erik said, scratching his cheek and succeeding in dabbing paint along his cheekbone. 

“It looks fine.” 

Erik pursed his lips into nonexistence, stoking the paintbrush along his jaw. Raoul wanted to slap his hand away. How did he not realize what he was doing? Erik glanced at him and said, “You’ve got paint in your hair.”

“What?”

“Yeah, right,” Erik waved his hand over his forehead, “there abouts.”

Raoul reached up and felt the wet paint in his hair. His fingers came away blue. “You’ve got paint everywhere.” 

Erik looked down at his shirt. “No I don’t.”

“All over your face.” 

“Ah.”

Erik grabbed the rag he had been using to dry his paintbrush and wiped his face with it. He succeeded in smearing more colour onto his face. Raoul wrestled the cloth from his grasp. “Stop, just stop okay? You’re making it worse.”

Erik released the rag and went back to studying the paintings. Raoul glanced at Erik. His skin was like canvas, pulled tight as it was over bones and now covered in paint. 

“You’re very good,” Erik said.

“You should let me paint you.”

“Just paint a corpse, it would sit still longer.” 

“I meant your face.” 

Erik’s brow creased. “My face?”

“With flowers. I could make it look nice, all the paint spots.” 

Erik stared at him. “This paint is toxic you know.” 

Raoul looked away. “I know.” He squished his lips together to hide his disappointment . 

Erik leaned over, grabbed Raoul’s palet and presented it to him. “Do your worst.”

Raoul took it, surprised. “Okay. Close your eyes.”

He couldn’t really tell if Erik had obeyed. Raoul studied Erik’s face, before mixing a tiny drop of pink and applying it to Erik’s chin. 

“That tickles.”

“Stay still.”

Erik was, despite what he said, quite good at staying still. Raoul continued to paint his face, avoiding Erik’s eyes, nose, and mouth. He painted quick little flowers. 

“What are you doing?” Gustave asked, peering over his shoulder. 

“I’m using your Papa’s face as a canvas.”

“Isn’t paint poisonous?”

“It’s just for a few minutes,” Raoul replied, feeling guilty. He put down his brush. “There.”

“What did you paint?” asked Erik. 

“Flowers.”

“Does it look good?”

Raoul studied Erik’s face. “It’s… hard to describe.” 

“You look like the myth of Hades and Persephone,” said Gustave. 

Erik turned his focus between the two of them. “Alright, just this once,” he sighed. “Let's get this over with.”

He led the way to the bathroom with the mirror. Raoul and Gustave followed him in. Erik took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. His expression didn’t change, but his hands fisted around the rim of the sink. 

“Papa?” Gustave asked softly. 

Erik took a deep shaking breath, dropping his head down, holding the sink in shaking hands. “I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. 

Gustave patted his back. Erik sunk down onto his elbows, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. He clasped them behind his neck instead. 

“It looks good,” he croaked. “You did a good job, Raoul.”

Gustave hugged him, and Erik turned around, wrapping his arms around Gustave in turn. A tear ran down his cheek, smearing red and blue. Raoul went to the linens closet and grabbed a washcloth. “Here, I’ll wash it off,” he said quietly. 

“No, I like it,” Erik said fiercely, clasping Raoul’s wrist as he started to wet the washcloth. A few more tears joined the first, smearing the paint even further. 

“Erik it’s coming off anyway.”

“Damn it!” Erik shouted, startling Gustave. “Always! I’m always ruining beautiful things!” 

“But you make beautiful things too,” Gustave begged, trying to hold onto Erik as he paced the confines of the bathroom. “You make beautiful music, and you paint beautifully, and you sing-!”

“There’s no permanence, no permanence! It’s a distorted beauty, don’t you see? Heaven or hell, neither have a place in this world!”

“Your music inspires people-!”

“Damn it all!” Erik screamed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I would give it up in an instant, an instant!, if I could be normal!” He stared at his hands, now covered in the ruins of painted flowers. “And I’ve gone and ruined it!” He howled. “All this beauty, all of it, crushed! Ruined!”

He fell back against the bathtub, sobbing. Gustave looked down at him contemptuously. “I can’t believe you’d say that, Papa,” his voice cracked. “I can’t believe you. Give up your voice. I sing because I want to make you proud! I sing because I want to make Mother proud! How can you just wish to throw away your greatest gift?” 

Gustave rubbed furiously at his eyes and stalked from the washroom. Erik stared after him, distraught. He noticed Raoul still standing there and shrunk into a sulk. 

“He’s right you know,” Raoul said softly, sitting down beside Erik. “You shouldn’t wish away your voice.” 

Erik pouted, resting his chin on his arms. 

“Here,” Raoul turned Erik’s face towards his own and began to wash off the paint. Erik let him, still crying quietly. 

“Do you think he hates me?” he asked at last.

“Hates you? No.”

“He was so angry.”

Raoul sighed. “Erik, you’re very melodramatic, you know that right?”

“Yes, I know.” 

Erik was still looking down. Raoul tipped Erik’s face up to look into his eyes. “He doesn’t hate you,” Raoul said softly. “I don’t think he understands why you do either.” 

He squeezed Erik’s hands reassuringly. Erik stared at them like they were some sort of foriegn object. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “I can’t believe he’s my son. Not when he’s inherited his thoughtfulness from you.”

Raoul felt something catch in his throat. “That’s not from me, it’s from Christine.”

Erik glanced up at him again. There was one last tear on his cheek. He looked at Raoul with his eyebrows drawn up in the center, like he had learned something confusing. He looked down again and squeezed Raoul’s wrist, then stood up. Raoul stood up too. He was tempted to wipe the tear off Erik’s cheek, but now that they were no longer crouching on the floor it didn’t seem appropriate. He followed Erik out of the washroom.

Raoul didn’t know exactly how he’d ended up at the social gathering, but here he was. He had probably been invited by some of the parents from Gustave’s school. Standing now in the large ballroom he felt out of place, dirty. Most people ignored him, but it was better than those who shot him pitying glances. There’s the Vicomte de Chagny, he’s possibly mad. There’s the Vicomte de Chagny, a recovering alcoholic. There’s the Vicomte de Chagny, did you know he might have killed his brother? There’s the Vicomte de Chagny, the widower. Did you see the wretch he has for a mistress? Such a scandal! 

Raoul glared down into his glass, which held only water. He wished bitterly for something stronger. A movement by his side and a voice said, “Don’t even consider it.”

Raoul looked up at the ceiling high overhead. “Where were you?”

“The ladies room.” Raoul shot his masked companion a startled, fierce look. Erik tilted his head in a manner of rolling his eyes. “Oh come now, you didn’t expect me to hoist my skirts and piss in a bush, did you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Bored?”

“How can you tell,” Raoul muttered sarcastically. 

Erik was silent for a second. Then he pointed a gloved hand past Raoul’s face to two people on the outskirts of the dance floor by a large table of sweets. “Do you see those two people?”

The lady was in a blue dress, at such a distance that though she was facing them it was impossible to clearly make out her face. She was talking to a man in a finely cut black evening coat. “Yes.”

“Would you like to know what they’re saying?”

Raoul gave Erik a confused glance. Had he somehow rigged this building with a network of wires? When he was supposed to be in the washroom? Erik didn’t wait for Raoul’s answer, instead improvising a conversation between the two. 

“The man, of course, only to be polite, asks her what she does for a hobby to which she responds ‘Well, sir, though it is not a hobby I am a prolific writer!’- He, being dense, does not understand right away. ‘And what do you write? Letters? Poetry?’ - “Novels, sir, I am a published author.’   
“He sees now that he had better defend himself fast, having misjudged her so. ‘I see! And writing, does it pay well? You are in need of a patron, perhaps.’ - Ah, but this man is a scoundrel! He will not just give out money for free, you understand. No, he is looking for something. Favours, if you will. But once again he has underestimated her! Writers are, by craft, a whip-smart bunch. - ‘I have no need for a patron.’ - ‘Are you sure? With an income guaranteed you would have a lot more time to spend on your pleasures.’ - ‘Writing is my pleasure, sir.’ - ‘Surely you must think it over. Where do you live? You could be living somewhere grander. Or perhaps you are in need of new supplies? A new pen?’ - ‘Though my pen may only be of moderate size, sir, it gives me more pleasure than yours ever could!’”

And here Erik paused for emphasis. It took Raoul a second to grasp the innuendo in what Erik had just said, but when he did he snorted aloud, drawing many concerned and condescending looks from those near him. He quickly pretended to have a coughing fit. Erik waited until he had straightened back up, then in a low voice continued: 

“The man is obviously put off by this. See how he fidgets with his coat! Such impudence he cannot let go! - ‘Why you little peacock!’ he hisses, trading insult for insult. ‘You insolent little peacock!’ - She being much the slyer replies serenely, ‘Oh sir, I would not dare take the title of pea cock from you!’”

Erik finished this little speech triumphantly. Upon the last word Raoul burst out laughing. The people around him started away from him in surprise. It took Raoul a good deal of time to realize that this was not the time or the place to be laughing and he once again tried to smother it in a fit of forced coughing. 

“Are you enjoying my party then, Vicomte?”

Raoul and Erik both looked up. Standing before them was the man in the fitted black coat, looking bemused. 

“Oh! Yes, very much.” 

Their host smiled with his lips. “I am glad. Do you attend many parties?”

“Not many, and none so opulent and grand as this!”

Their host studied the room amiably. “Surely you do not feel threatened by opulence, Vicomte.”

“Not in the least. Opulence is simply another form of compensation.”

“Compensation?” their host asked slowly. “And what do you mean by that?”

Raoul heard the low threat in the man’s voice but it did not stop him from running his damn mouth. “I was just thinking of birds. They’re fascinating, birds, aren’t they? Rooms like this, they remind me of birds.”

“Do you have a problem with birds, Vicomte?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Raoul responded. “I have no problem with peacocks!”

The room had fallen completely silent. Raoul had said this last remark so loudly that it had carried, and now he stood mortified in the silence. Their host was staring at him with a look of confusion slowly dawning into a look of anger. Beside him Erik was shaking with suppressed laughter. 

“You must-,” Raoul’s voice was loud with embarrassment. “You must forgive me, sir, I’ve had too much to drink!” And he waved his cup of water in front of his host’s face before allowing Erik to pull him out the door. 

They managed to reach the end of the driveway and hire a coach while still looking manageably presentable. Once in the coach however they both started howling with laughter. 

“Compensation!” Erik shrieked giddily. “A peacock!” 

“His face, did you see his face? Oh god, why didn’t you stop me?” Raoul cried through a fit of giggles. 

Erik wheezed, laughing still harder. “Never. Never.” 

Raoul tried to compose himself. Erik followed suit, patting down his dress and taking in huge gulps of air. “I can’t breathe in this corset!” he gasped. “And I’m crying of laughter! Raoul, you’ll be the death of me!”

They sat a few more moments in silence, Erik’s rasping breathing the only noise between them. 

“Did you notice the chandelier, though?” Raoul asked. 

“Of course I did. The amount of droplet shaped jewels? You’d think he was trying to compensate for erectile disfunction.” 

This comment of course set them both to laughing again. They didn’t even realize they’d stopped until the coach driver knocked on the wall. Raoul helped the still wheezing Erik into the house, his own body weak with laughter. Once inside he trailed Erik into Erik’s room. 

“Perhaps,” choked Erik, “perhaps we should attend more parties.”

“What could go wrong in that?” Raoul agreed joyously. 

Erik pulled off his mask, wiping his streaming eyes with his fingers. 

“Do you think,” Raoul asked peevishly, “that he’ll do anything about it?”

“Not if he’s smart,” Erik smirked. “But if not, well… I could see a few of his handkerchiefs attending to the wrong nose, if you know what I mean.”

Raoul snorted, sitting down on Erik’s bed. “That would be troubling, especially if one falls down the pant leg. Oh, how silly of my servants! They must not have separated my wash! Really? And they don’t wash the lights and darks separately?” 

Erik clicked his tongue. “That wouldn’t worry me so much, mind,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want to be the one who has to pick those handkerchiefs. There are worse things than snot in this world.” 

“You don’t think he would...” Raoul sat forward. 

“And to have to put the handkerchief in your coat pocket if it should fall out,” Erik added sagely. “The poor fool.” 

“That’s disgusting!” Raoul exclaimed. “But if he forgot- what if he blew his nose on it?” 

“Why Vicomte,” Erik smirked, pulling off his wig. “I didn’t know you were so filthy.”

“I suppose the immature sailor boy in me never left.” 

“Indeed,” Erik tugged at his wig again. In a more serious voice he asked, “Will you help me with this?” 

Raoul stood up. Some of the curls from Erik’s wig had gotten caught in the holes where the lacing wound up the back of his dress. As carefully as he could Raoul unknotted them. Once he was done Erik threw the wig away in relief. Then he put it on a wig stand to keep its shape. Once this was done he reached behind his head and grabbing handfuls of fabric removed the dress in one fluid motion. The petticoats soon followed, forming a heap on the floor. 

“Finally!” Erik exclaimed, pulling one knee and then the other to his chest. “I can move freely again!” 

He flopped back on his bed. “You have no idea, Raoul, the amount of restriction that comes from all those layers.” 

This seemed to remind him of something and he reached into the neckline of his chemise, pulling out two balls of yarn. Raoul stared at him. 

“Why are you staring? What are you staring at? Oh, these?” and here Erik let out a laugh, “You didn’t expect that I just grew breasts overnight, did you?” 

Raoul rubbed his forehead. “No, I suppose not.” 

Erik sat up again. “Now I really must get out of this corset.”

“Are you sure?” Raoul asked, startled. 

“What do you mean, am I sure? Of course I’m sure! I’ve been overheating in this unbearable cage all night!” 

Raoul opened his mouth, then closed it again. Erik was already tearing at the lacings of the corset before pulling it over his head and tossing it across the room. He rubbed at his sides, moaning in pleasure, and Raoul looked away uncomfortably. He would have thought Erik had forgotten all about him save that Erik kept addressing him as he wandered about his room in his scant female underclothes. 

“Erik,” Raoul interrupted. He had no idea what Erik had been going on about. Erik turned his attention to Raoul. The neckline of his chemise, without the corset and yarn to hold it in place, had slipped lopsidedly down his chest almost exposing his shoulder. Under Erik’s undivided attention Raoul felt heat rise in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should put some pants on.”

Erik looked at him, then down at the fluffy knickers that came down to his knees. “Yes,” he said absentmindedly, “perhaps I should.”

He crossed to his dresser and opened one of the drawers. “Erik,” Raoul tried again. “Erik!”

“What?” Erik looked at him confused, pants folded over his arm. 

“I’m still here!”

Still no comprehension dawned in Erik’s face. He looked irritatingly calm, whereas Raoul felt like his face was turning redder by the minute. “Yes…”

“Well, don’t you want me to leave?”

The silence was so still after Raoul’s harsh words that they could have heard a pin drop. Erik finally seemed to grasp what Raoul was insinuating because he clutched his pants to his chest, seeming to shrink behind them. 

“I…,” Erik stammered. 

Hesitation. Erik was hesitating, and Raoul didn’t know how he felt about it. It surprised him, certainly. 

“I- yes,” Erik’s voice was small. “Please leave.” 

Raoul felt a small joint of anger at the objection to his presence, even though he had been the one to suggest it. He left.

The weather was being melodramatically rainy. All the rain was causing potholes in the road, which made the ride from the train station to the hotel incredibly uncomfortable. Erik, Gustave, and Raoul were on their annual trip to visit Christine’s grave. They did this close to her birthday. Usually, these trips did not involve bad weather. The carriage pulled up across the road from the hotel. “Careful,” yelled the driver, “the ground looks pretty rough.”

Raoul wrenched the door open and cringed back as rain plastered itself into the carriage. Both Gustave and Erik hunched away from the door. Raoul grabbed the railing over the door and pulled himself out so that he was standing on the threshold. He reached up and grabbed the handle of a suitcase, then heaved it down, jumping down himself as he did so. The driver was right, the ground was uneven. Wind, mud, and the sudden weight of a suitcase sent Raoul stumbling backwards. His foot entered the rain filled ditch, causing him to lose his balance and fall over. The suitcase fell beside him, the latch clicking open and spilling his clothes into the grimy water. 

“Fuck!” Raoul cursed, trying his best to shovel his now wet and dirty clothes back into the suitcase before the ditch water could carry them away. Gustave hopped out of the carriage and helped him, grabbing the pieces that had swum out of Raoul’s reach. Erik handed the remaining suitcases down to Gustave before hopping down himself. Raoul hauled himself out of the ditch and followed Erik and Gustave into the hotel. 

The owner came bustling from the back at the sound of the door opening and gave a little shriek when she saw them. To be fair, they were dripping water everywhere and Erik was wearing a mask. She quickly ushered them into a set of rooms on the floor above. She then offered to take all their wet clothes and wash them and hang them up to dry. Erik had managed to keep himself pretty dry: the only clothes he needed dried were his socks. Gustave hadn’t managed to keep his cloak about him as tightly, and so his whole outfit had become a little damp around the edges. Raoul needed everything washed. Everything. Everything he wore, and everything in his suitcase. It was only after he’d given the owner all his clothes and dried himself off with a towel that Raoul realized he had no clothes to put back on. “Gustave?” he bellowed. 

Footsteps down the hall and then Erik’s voice: “Gustave’s taking a bath. What do you want?”

Raoul ran a hand through his hair. He’d hoped Gustave would act as intermediary. “I…,” Raoul swallowed. “I don’t have any clothes.”

There was silence from the other side of the door. 

“Do you think…,” Raoul rubbed his hands together nervously, “do you think that I could borrow some?”

“Borrow some.”

“From you. Yeah.”

There was another beat of silence. When Erik spoke again he sounded hesitant, a little wary, “What do you need?”

“Everything.” 

“Oh,” said Erik, slightly stangled. 

“Just until my clothes are dry, and not actually everything, I’d be fine with just a pair of underwear, pants and a shirt,” Raoul tacked on quickly. 

He thought he heard Erik take a deep breath. “What size are you?”

Embarrassed, Raoul relayed his pants, shirt, and underwear size to Erik. Erik walked away. Raoul stood behind his door awkwardly and shivered. He hooked his foot around his opposite ankle, rubbing it up and down for warmth. Maybe he should have just settled for a sheet. He didn’t fancy being naked in a sheet, but the longer he waited for Erik to return the more it seemed like it would have been the better option. At last he heard Erik’s quick footsteps returning, followed by a sharp knock on the door. Raoul pulled the door open a crack, keeping himself well behind it. 

“Here,” Erik stuck his arm into the room and dropped a pile of clothes on the floor before retracting. “It’s the best I could find.” 

Raoul shut the door, then set about inspecting the pile. It was one shirt, one pants, and one underwear, just like he’d asked. He held up the underwear and sniffed at it. It smelled musty, like something belonging in an antiquities museum. The shirt and pants smelled the same way. Raoul made a mental note to tell Erik to air his clothes more often and pulled the underwear on. It fit, sort of. A size bigger would have been better. The waistline was a little tight and the crotch definitely was, but at least it was better than nothing. Raoul tried to fixate on anything other than the fact that he was wearing another man’s underwear and pulled on the shirt next. Just like the underwear, the shirt was a little tight. It pulled at his shoulders and he couldn’t button it up all the way without feeling like he was choking, but at least he could move around in it. The sleeves hung down past his palms and Raoul pushed them back. Pants next. The pants definitely didn’t fit. The underwear had been stretchy, the pants weren’t, so he couldn’t do up the waist. He also struggled getting them over his thighs and butt. Uncomfortable, but it would have to do. Raoul shuffled around the room. He tried to readjust the pants, pulling up on the fabric that insisted on bunching by his knees. Frustrated, he jerked his leg up, an action that was met by the sound of ripping. Well. At least he could move now. The seam had split up the back and along the side of his leg. Guiltily, Raoul took the pants off. 

“Erik?” he called.

“What?” Erik’s voice came from behind the door and it startled Raoul that he hadn’t left. 

“I broke your pants.”

“You what?”

“They didn’t fit.”

“How did you break my pants?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just lifted my leg and the seam kind of split. It kind of split a lot.”

He heard Erik sigh from the other side of the door. “Fine. Give them to me.”

Raoul pulled open the door and put the ruined pair of pants into Erik’s waiting hand. Erik stared at him and swallowed, the pants hanging loosely in his hand. Raoul looked down at himself, following Erik’s gaze. He flushed. 

“Do you have any other pants?”

It was hard to tell exactly where Erik was looking because his eyes were completely hidden by shadow. “That was- hm!” Erik cleared his throat to reset his voice to about normal pitch. “That was my widest pair of pants.”

“Oh.”

Erik sucked on his lips, looking down the hallway towards his own room and past it to the window where outside the storm was still blowing. “At least the other clothes fit relatively well,” he said awkwardly, waving a hand at Raoul. 

“Yeah,” Raoul scratched his leg with his big toe. Relatively well. Nothing was ever supposed to fit ‘relatively well’. He tugged at the hem of the shirt, then remembered the mental note he’d made. “You should air your clothes more often.”

Erik, who had been studying his own stockinged feet, looked up in surprise. “They smell old and musty,” Raoul clarified. “Even your underwear. Do you fold them up super tight, or always store them in an old suitcase, or-?”

“You smelled my underwear?” Erik gagged, horrified. 

Raoul blanched, then blushed under Erik’s horrified stare. “I- well- I don’t- isn’t it normal to smell clothes to make sure they’re clean?” 

If it was possible for Erik to look even more terribly uncomfortable, he now did. Raoul fidgeted with his collar. It felt a little hard to breath. “Well- yes- but not- not underwear- Maybe if you’re disorganized -but still it’s hard to tell the difference- no one’s that sweaty- it would have to smell distinctly different to tell it’s dirty- can’t you just see it’s dirty?- Besides, I wouldn’t do that, I packed clean clothes!” Erik squeaked, floundering more and more.

His outburst was followed by an awkward moment of silence. Erik fiddled with his ruined pair of pants, and Raoul tugged at the shirt some more, seriously wishing for a pair of pants. 

“I’ll tell the inkeep to bring our meals up to Gustave’s room,” Erik finally said. “We can all eat there.”

Raoul nodded. What Erik wasn’t saying was that he, Raoul, wasn’t decent to go down and eat with the other hotel guests. Erik stalked off quickly down the hall. Raoul retreated into his room and closed the door. Alright, how bad did he look? There was a mirror on the armoire, not the largest mirror, but it would suffice. Raoul walked over to it. Shit. He certainly was not decent. It looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. Specifically that he’d had to quickly dress to avoid explaining why he was having sex. Raoul groaned and tried to flatten his hair. 

Erik came to get him when their dinner was ready. Raoul had been sitting wrapped in a sheet, and when he stood he took it with him. Erik didn’t comment, and neither did Gustave. Once they were finished eating Erik took the plates down to the kitchen and they took turns brushing their teeth. The innkeeper had not yet brought up Raoul’s clothes; they were not all dry, so he would have to sleep in what he was wearing. The shirt still smelled musty, the underwear still uncomfortable, and it made going to sleep a little harder than normal. 

Raoul was woken up by the innkeeper knocking on his door with the clean laundry. Gratefully, he opened the door to let her in. She dumped it all on the ground, bid him a good morning, and left. She looked exhausted. Raoul made a mental note to leave her a tip, then set about sorting out Gustave and Erik’s clothes. Once done, he chose some clothes for himself. They smelled a little like campfire, but it was better than nothing. He changed gratefully and took the small piles of his family’s clothes down the hall. He dropped Gustave’s off first. Gustave had obviously just woken up: his hair was everywhere and he was rubbing his eyes. He took his clothes from Raoul with a slight air of confusion, and Raoul assured him he could go back to sleep if he wished. Erik was already awake, and asked who it was when Raoul knocked on his door. 

“It’s Raoul, I’ve got your clothes.”

Erik opened the door. Raoul handed over his socks, then the clothes he’d let Raoul borrow which Erik took with more caution. 

“The socks smell like smoke,” Raoul said. 

Erik sniffed them, then put them on his bed. He dumped the clothes Raoul had slept in into the laundry hamper. 

“Thanks for lending me your clothes,” said Raoul, awkwardly.

“Let’s make it the last time.” 

There was a pair of pants heaped on the armoire. Erik had turned the mirror away. “Are you sewing up the pants?” Raoul asked, interested.

“To the best of my ability. Now, is Gustave up yet?”

“I told him he could sleep in.”

Erik grunted. “Mm. Right. I’m sure you have a lot of laundry to fold up.”

Raoul eyed him quizzically. “If I’m making you uncomfortable you can just ask me to leave.”

Erik nodded slowly. “Please leave,” he said.

When Gustave was fourteen was the first time he got a crush. His crush was on a girl in his class. She had slightly bucked teeth and springy black hair. She was very smart. Gustave had asked her to tutor him in history, which he did actually struggle in. Unfortunately, Gustave had seen her talking to another boy and was pretty sure that she had a lover. He came home that day very depressed and shut himself in his room to play violin. His fathers noticed something was wrong and tried to talk to him, but he ignored him. He played violin until his fingers were soar and Raoul was calling to tell him it was dinner time. He ignored the summons. Raoul pushed open his door and Gustave shot him a scowl. Raoul crossed his arms and studied his son pityingly. 

“I’m not hungry, Father.”

Raoul sighed and sat down on Gustave’s bed. He patted the bed beside him. Reluctantly, Gustave sat beside him. 

“Your Papa and I are worried about you. You’ve been playing violin for three hours. Your Papa thinks… wonders if you’re having lover trouble.”

Raoul’s gaze was earnest. Gustave sighed and nodded sadly. Raoul put an arm around his shoulder. 

“What happened?”

“I… I like this girl in my class. Gabrielle. She’s really smart. And I saw her with another guy. She was laughing.”

“Did she kiss him?”

Gustave pushed past his unwillingness to dwell on the moment and thought about it. “I… don’t think so.”

“Does she like you?”

Gustave shrugged. “I think so. A bit. She sometimes laughs when she tutors me.”

“She tutors you?”

“After school sometimes. For history.” Gustave felt himself smiling and blushing under his father’s surprised gaze.

“Well! I’d say you’re on the right track then!”

Gustave’s smile turned into a frown. “But she was with another boy, Father!”

“They might just be friends Gustave.”

“But how do I know if she likes me?”

Raoul sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“What? No!”

“Gustave…”

“It’ll be embarrassing! And she’ll know I like her, and if she doesn’t like me then she might stop tutoring me and-”

“Gustave.”

Gustave stopped mid ramble and looked beseechingly to his father. Raoul put his hands on Gustave’s shoulders, “Just start slow. Bring a snack to share while tutoring. Take her for a walk in a park. Talk to her. Just don’t follow the example of your Papa and try and kidnap her.”

“What?” 

“You heard me.”

“Papa- what- when?”

“Oh, years ago. Before you were born,” Raoul sat back. “How about we go to dinner and I can tell you all about it then?”

He stood up and offered his hand to Gustave. Gustave took it and followed his father into the dining room for dinner.

Erik and Raoul were baking a cake for Gustave’s birthday. It was a lemon cake, and Raoul was helping Erik cut delicate lemon slices to act as decoration. Erik had become greatly interested in making the presentation of the cake look nice. His knife skills were better than Raoul’s and he could cut the lemons much thinner. Erik kept casting slightly disapproving glances at Raoul’s slices but he didn’t complain. Then finally he reached over and grabbed Raoul’s wrists. 

“Tuck your thumb in,” he instructed. “You’ll cut yourself. If you use the tips of your fingers to hold the lemon in place you can cut much smaller without worrying about cutting yourself. And putting your index finger on top of the blade won’t help your dexterity.” 

He withdrew his hands. Raoul attempted to fix his grip on the lemon, but it was difficult to keep it from slipping with his fingertips so he went back to clutching it with his palm. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with my way.”

“You’ll cut yourself,” warned Erik.

Raoul glanced up at him and snorted. He brought the knife down. He felt the knife slice his thumb. He would have played it off as if he hadn’t just ironically been cut by a knife except that the lemon juice on the knife got into the cut and made it sear with pain. Raoul yelped and dropped the knife, just missing his foot. He shook his hand vigorously, shouting expletives. 

“OW! Fucking codswallowing-!”

“I warned you-!”

“-jackassery-!”

“Stop waving your hand around, you’ll get blood everywhere-!”

“-shit stick-!”

Raoul was jumping around the kitchen. Erik ducked his flailing wrist, putting his own knife down as he did so. He turned quickly to face Raoul, who was now jumping from foot to foot and knocking into the counter as he blundered around. Tears blinded Raoul’s eyes. One of Erik’s hands clamped onto his shoulder holding him in place and the other clamped around the wrist of his wounded hand. Without thinking, Erik took Raoul’s bleeding thumb and stuck it in his mouth. Raoul’s blood was salty and slightly sour from the lemon juice. He tried to suck the blood away and rinse it with saliva, which is what he would have done if the cut had been on his thumb and not Raoul’s. Erik pulled Raoul’s thumb from his mouth and steered Raoul over to the sink to run his thumb under some cold water and went to get bandages. When he returned he put Raoul’s thumb to his mouth again to suck off the moisture and blood and wrapped the wound tightly. This done, he picked up Raoul’s knife and put it into the sink. Raoul was staring at him. 

“You probably shouldn’t cut anymore lemons,” said Erik. 

Raoul gestured at his own mouth, “You’ve got blood…”

“Oh,” Erik rinsed his mouth with water and dried it on the tea towel then picked up his knife to resume cutting. He could feel Raoul’s eyes on him. “What is it, Chagny?”

“You just put my thumb in your mouth.”

“You weren’t. I was being proactive.”

Raoul growled, “It’s weird, Erik. People don’t just- It’s too intimate- What if I put your thumb in my mouth?”

He grabbed Erik’s wrist. Erik tried to jerk it away. 

“Stop this nonsense, you’re being childish-!”

“I don’t appreciate you just sticking my appendages in your mouth-!”

“Fathers?”

They both stopped dead at the sound of Gustave’s voice and spun around, blocking the counter like guilty children. Gustave took a deep breath and said, “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

He gestured for someone outside the doorway to come forward. Erik quickly covered his face with his hands. The person who Gustave had with him was a girl. She had a long face and curly black hair. She looked confusedly at the two men in the kitchen. 

“Gabrielle, these are my fathers,” said Gustave, beaming.

Gabrielle turned her confused look to him. “You have two fathers?”

“It’s a long story…”

She shrugged, “That’s okay.”

“It’s a little scandalous…”

“Piratical,” she smiled. 

Raoul stuck out his hand and shook hers. “I’m Raoul,” he introduced, “I’m Gustave’s father by marriage. I was married to his mother. That’s Erik. He’s Gustave’s father by blood.”

Gabrielle smiled at Raoul then looked at Erik then back to Gustave, then back to Erik. “Why are you covering your face?”

“I’m incredibly hideous,” came Erik’s muffled reply. 

“He looks like a skeleton,” Gustave clarified. 

“Fascinating.”

Erik peeked at her through his fingers. “I don’t want to scare you,” he said sadly. Gabrielle stared at him defiantly. Slowly, Erik lowered his hands. He didn’t look at Gabrielle. Gabrielle kept a plain face, but when Erik licked his lips in preparation to say something she let out a small gasp and clasped Gustave’s wrist. 

Gabrielle glanced at Gustave then back to Erik. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-,” she started.

“I’ve gotten worse receptions,” Erik told her kindly. “Raoul fainted.”

“I did not.”

“You did, I remember quite vividly.”

“Ahem,” Gustave interrupted. “We’re going to go study now, if that is alright with you?”

He started edging toward the door. When Raoul nodded Gustave took Gabrielle’s hand and led her away. Raoul smiled after them. 

Gabrielle was quiet as Gustave led her to the living room. Her eyes were downcast, and Gustave could tell she was still upset when she asked, “Do you think I offended your father?”

“No,” said Gustave earnestly. “I don’t.”

She glanced up at him, then away. Gustave approached her. He awkwardly lay a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s okay. Papa’s face used to scare me too. I’ve just gotten used to it. You didn’t offend him.”

Gabrielle took a deep breath and met Gustave’s eyes. She nodded. “Your family seems nice,” she said by way of apology. 

Gustave shrugged. “I suppose. They’re really overprotective, and sometimes they fight. It’s a little scary. Papa can get really intense, but Father always shuts him down. They haven’t fought as much recently. When Papa first moved in they fought a lot more. Sometimes they can be pretty funny. What are your parents like?”

Gabrielle stuck out her tongue. “Boring. They’re way too proper. They don’t know how to loosen up. They don’t really get along and so spend lots of time lecturing me on how to be a proper young lady. Sometimes they fight too. They’d probably both blow a vein if they knew I had a stack of pirate stories under my bed.”

“They sound very….normal.”

“Boring you mean.”

“And your parents love each other?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “Yeah. Some of the time.”

Gustave contemplated this. “Weird.”

“How is that weird?”

“Because your parents sound similar to my parents, but my parents don’t love each other at all.”

Gabrielle cast him a strange look. 

Back in the kitchen:

“Well!” beamed Raoul, turning back to Erik. “It seems like Gustave is doing well…”

He trailed off as he caught sight of Erik. Erik was biting his fist and a tear was sliding slowly down his cheek. 

“I’ve ruined it for him, Raoul,” he gulped hoarsely. 

“No you haven’t.”

“I always ruin something! Always!” Erik was pushing his palms and nails against his face as if in an attempt to rub the abhorred thing away. 

“Heyheyhey!” Raoul grabbed his wrists. “You have not ruined anything! Erik! Are you listening to me?”

Erik was shaking his head vehemently. Raoul dropped Erik’s wrists and grabbed Erik’s cheeks, stilling him. “Look at me,” he commanded, wrenching Erik’s face to meet his. “You have not. Ruined. Anything.”

Raoul could just make out Erik’s eyes clenched shut. “You wouldn’t understand!” Erik shouted. “You! With your perfect face, and perfect everything! I am a monster!”

“First of all,” Raoul retorted angrilly, “my life is far from fucking perfect! Secondly, I’ll take the compliment. Thirdly, you’re not a monster. You’re a human, Erik. Just that. No more, no less.”

Raoul was breathing heavily through his nose. Erik opened his eyes and looked into Raoul’s eyes. Or eye. He was a little too close to differentiate between the two. The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window behind Erik caught in Raoul’s lashes and swam in his eyes. Raoul had beautiful eyes. They were blue, the full vibrant blue of the summer sky. Erik had never seen eyes that colour before, but most eyes were unique in some way. He tried to anchor himself in that gaze. 

“Erik?” Raoul asked softly. “You’re just a human. Okay?”

“If Gustave had green eyes it would be like your eyes and my eyes mixed,” breathed Erik. 

Raoul’s brows creased in consternation and then he started laughing. He released Erik’s face and crumpled forward, sliding down the counter-ledge until he was sitting on the floor and kept laughing. His laugh was deep and vibrant. Erik, confused, crouched beside him. 

“What? What is so funny?”

“You just- out of nowhere!- you just- hahaha!”

Erik bobbed awkwardly on his heels. Raoul fell to the side, laughing. Finally he took some calming breaths and heaved himself back into a sitting position, hiccoughing. Raoul wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry Erik, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Raoul tipped his head back to give Erik a lopsided smile. Erik shrunk his head into his shoulders, a little flustered and shrugged. Sighing, Raoul reached out and patted Erik’s knee. He didn’t say anything, just rested his hand there. Erik watched him, trying not to be hyper aware of the warm pressure of Raoul’s hand. Raoul wasn’t smiling any more, but the residue of it still clung around his eyes, softening his expression. Erik felt his heart beating in his neck. His human heart. He clasped his hand over Raoul’s. A cloud passed, muting the sunlight for a second. As it passed Raoul gazed past Erik’s shoulder to watch its progress. When the sun had returned the smile had left Raoul’s face. He glanced back at Erik, lost, in a sense, and took a breath. 

“Help me up.”

Erik hauled Raoul to his feet and they turned back to the task before them: Gustave’s cake. The air in the room seemed to have lost some of its lightness and warmth when the cloud passed. Both of them felt this, and both of them felt alone in their own space, and neither knew quite what to do about it. Erik finished cutting the lemons and Raoul started stacking the dishes in the sink. The batter from the bowl got on his thumb and he sucked it off. It was quite tasty. He wiped off some more and ate it, then scooped up some and held his finger out to Erik. 

“Try some, it’s good.”

Erik wrinkled what little nose he had. “No thanks. I thought you didn’t want your appendages in my mouth.”

Raoul shrugged and sucked off the batter. “More for me.”

“Alright, fine. Let me taste it.”

Erik reached for the bowl. Raoul scooped up some more and popped it into Erik’s mouth. Now that he didn’t have to suck on Raoul’s finger for a utilitarian purpose, Erik felt a little more awkward. The batter was tasty though. He sucked it off then quickly removed Raoul’s finger from his mouth. 

“See? Good, right?”

“Yes.” 

Raoul ran his finger along the inside of the bowl. Erik tugged the bowl toward himself so that Raoul couldn’t eat all the batter. It was sweet. He wanted some too. By running his finger over the bottom of the bowl Erik was able to collect about a centimeter of batter. He held it up proudly. “That’s a lot of batter.”

Raoul glared jealously at him and grabbed Erik’s hand, popping the batter in his mouth before Erik could eat it. 

“Hey!” Erik objected. 

Raoul grinned at him, Erik’s finger still in his mouth. It wasn’t a sheepish grin, either. It was almost a challenge, an I-know-I-can-get-away-with-this grin. Raoul grinned at him from half-lidded eyes and Erik knew he could get away with this, because suddenly his insides felt as soft as the batter they were eating. He jerked his hand away from Raoul and grabbed the bowl, pulling the rim into his chest. 

“Hey,” protested Raoul. When he reached for the batter again Erik swatted his hand away and stubbornly glared at Raoul, eating the batter by himself. It was a challenge, and with a crack of his neck Raoul accepted the challenge. Unfortunately for Raoul, Erik was very adept at swatting his hands. Unfortunately for Erik, he couldn’t eat any more batter without giving Raoul the opportunity to grab the bowl. Raoul lunged for the bowl again and managed to grab the rim. He tugged it away from Erik’s chest. They were stuck in a tug-of-war for a second, and then Raoul ripped it out of Erik’s grip. He laughed and turned away so Erik couldn’t get it back. It took Erik a second of ill-formed ideas to come up with a response. He took the hand he had been eating batter with and deliberately wiped it down Raoul’s back. 

Raoul spun back to him, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” said Erik smugly, taking the bowl from Raoul’s grip. Raoul let him. He was preoccupied. 

“You just wiped your dirty hand all over my shirt!”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Erik smirked. In truth, his hand hadn’t had any batter on it, but he wasn’t going to tell Raoul that. He wiped batter from the bowl and licked it off his fingers. 

Raoul was trying to see over his own shoulder, turning to and fro with the effort. “You’re a bastard,” he growled, reaching up to unbutton the neck of his shirt. 

Erik raised an eyebrow at him smugly and ate some more batter. Raoul rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt over his head. Erik hadn’t been expecting that. He dropped the bowl in surprise and it hit the floor with a resounding clang. Raoul looked up from inspecting the back of his shirt. 

“Erik, you’re staring at me funny.”

“No I’m not,” Erik squeaked. He bent down to retrieve the bowl, an action which had the added bonus of not being able to see Raoul’s chest and Raoul maybe not being able to see quite how red his cheeks were. He fumbled to pick it up a little longer than was strictly necessary. Erik kept his eyes on the bowl even as he stood. 

“I forgot you’re so squeamish.”

“I’m not squeamish.”

Erik could tell that Raoul was raising his eyebrows. He imagined rubbing batter into Raoul’s face. He imagined rubbing batter onto Raoul’s chest. He decided to stop imagining. 

“You’re bright red.”

“You’re not decent,” Erik snapped back. “We have a lady over, and you think it’s right to remove your shirt?”

“I’m more worried about the lady right in front of me,” Raoul replied testily. 

“I’m not a lady,” Erik hissed, raising his head to stare Raoul in the face. 

“No, I suppose not, a lady wouldn’t have a-”

“A lady wouldn’t have a what?” Erik snarled, frightened. His mind jumped to what was probably the most embarrassing scenario, which he really, really hoped was not what Raoul meant. He jammed the bowl’s rim into his stomach, like the bowl could shield him from whatever Raoul was thinking. Or from Raoul’s gaze. Or both. 

Raoul's gaze was hostile. His jaw worked, and Erik could tell he was picking his words. Slowly, Raoul said, “A lady wouldn’t be as butt-ugly as you are.”

His response actually relieved Erik, and then it insulted him. He glowered at Raoul, ran his fingers along the side of the bowl to gather some batter, and slathered the batter onto Raoul’s chest. Raoul sighed in irritation, “A lady also wouldn’t be this petty.”

“Well, that’s too bad for you. I guess you should have kept your shirt on,” Erik retorted, rubbing the batter into Raoul’s chest hair. 

Raoul grabbed his wrist to make him stop. “Look at the mess you’re making.”

His words made Erik actually consider what he had been doing. What the fuck had he just been doing? Why on earth had he thought rubbing batter onto Raoul’s chest was a good idea? Erik swallowed hard, heat rising uncomfortably in his neck, cheeks, and shoulders. He tugged his wrist away and pressed the bowl deeper into his stomach. He wished he could disappear from embarrassment. 

Raoul huffed and turned to the sink. He began to wash his chest and Erik turned away to give him what little privacy was available in the kitchen. 

“An apology would be nice,” Raoul grumbled. 

“Mm,” Erik kept his lips pressed tight together. The longer Raoul stayed mad at him, the longer until Raoul would tease him, if he even decided to. 

Raoul just sighed. Erik heard him turn off the tap, and the slightly scratchy sound as Raoul dried off his chest with a towel. Even after he was pretty sure Raoul had put his shirt back on Erik didn’t turn around until he heard Raoul say, “Let me take that, I need to wash it.”

Mutely, Erik handed over the bowl. The redness in his cheeks had died down, but it hadn’t gone away completely, and he was pretty sure Raoul was studying it because he didn’t turn to the sink right away. When he had put the bowl in the sink with the rest of the dishes Erik said, “I’m sorry.”

Raoul shrugged. Erik felt like he should say more, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t exactly justify his actions. So he just stayed quiet. Raoul didn’t say anything either. Erik glanced at Raoul. His hair was a little messed up from pulling his shirt on and off and a little bang was trailing over his forehead. For a second Erik wanted to curl it away from Raoul’s forehead, but he fought down the temptation. He couldn’t touch Raoul again. Finally, Erik offered to do the dishes and Raoul accepted, leaving the kitchen to go read or something. 

“Can I go out tonight?”

Raoul looked up from his work. Gustave was standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. 

“I suppose so. Where are you going?”

“I wanted to take Gabrielle out. There’s a ball at the opera and I thought it, I dunno, I thought it would be fun.”

Raoul studied Gustave. Gustave stared back, trying hard not to be embarrassed. 

“Sure,” said Raoul. 

Gustave smiled, “Great! Thank you!”

“It’s been forever since I attended a masked ball.”

Gustave sighed. “Father, please don’t come.”

“I wouldn’t interrupt your night.”

Gustave groaned and went to his room to clean up. Raoul turned back to his work, but then finding it hard to focus stood up. He followed the sound of music to find Erik in the living room playing the piano. He leaned in the doorway. 

“Gustave’s going out tonight.”

“Where?”

“The opera.”

“The opera?” Erik stopped playing and turned around. “What does he want at the opera?”

“He’s taking Gabrielle. It’s a date. There’s a masked ball.”

Erik’s eye sockets furrowed. “... Are you telling me this so I suggest we spy on him?”

“No,” Raoul lied. “It’s just been forever since either of us attended a masquerade, huh? Besides, he wouldn’t know we’re there.”

Erik considered this. “Alright, we can go. But we leave after he does.”

“You two are way too overprotective of me,” said Gustave, stepping out of the hallway where neither of his dads had noticed him. “Can’t you just respect my personal space just this once?”

“We’ll stay really far away from you,” queried Raoul.

Gustave heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m not a baby, god. I can go on a date by myself.”

“We’re not going to spy on you, we’re going because masquerades are nostalgic,” Erik said cooly. 

“Fine,” Gustave scowled. “But you two stay far away from my date. I don’t want to see either of you.” He waggled his fingers at both of them. “My date and your date are completely separate, can we agree?”

“Fine,” grumbled Erik. 

“I agree,” said Raoul. “But it’s not a date. Your Papa and I are just going to have fun.”

Gustave shrugged and headed out to buy a masquerade costume. 

Raoul put on the old white domino costume he had stashed in the back of the closet. It brought him a little pain to see it; he had bought it so Christine would know which dancer he was. Hot tears welled in his eyes and he brushed them away, then walked into the hall where he bumped into Erik dressed as the Red Death. 

“Again with that outfit? You really enjoy being flamboyant, don’t you?”

“I lived in a house in the basement of the opera, ran around through trap doors, and let a rumour circulate that I was a ghost and you’re only noticing this now?”

Raoul didn’t answer, just looked Erik up and down. It was strange to see the impressive figure of the Red Death in the slightly squishy corridor of his house. He noticed that Erik was still wearing the cape with ‘don’t touch me I am Red Death stalking abroad’ embroidered on it, and in a sudden onslaught of childish impudence reached out and jabbed Erik with a finger. 

“Poke.”

Erik slapped his hand away. He looked at his cape then back at Raoul and rolled his eyes. “Oh, real mature, Chagny. Real mature.”

Raoul grinned maliciously. “Come on, let’s get a cab. We don’t want to be late.”

The opera house was almost exactly as they remembered it, and stepping through those doors was like stepping into the past. The light and the music dazzled Raoul, and he stood blinking dumbly at the sea of people dancing and laughing and talking and eating. Erik was faring little better. And the loss of the woman who had brought them to their first masquerade suddenly weighed very heavily on them. Raoul felt like leaving and turned. 

“Raoul…?” Erik asked, confused, and his question gave Raoul pause. Raoul looked at him, and suddenly he was back in that first masquerade, seeing that death’s head face in the red again, the distance between them losing significance. He felt again the urge to rush at the figure, to rip off that mask, to see who it was that was lurking in the shadows, to finally meet his rival… 

Raoul raised his hand involuntarily to touch Erik’s face, and Erik’s cold fingers clamped around his wrist but not before Raoul had brushed his cheek, felt the tight skin and bone. It was not a mask. It was not.

“What are you doing?” hissed Erik, wrenching his hand away. There was a note of fear in his voice. Raoul blinked, centering himself in the present. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t know what--,” he took a shaky breath. “I’m fine now. Just memories that’s all.”

Erik’s shadowed eyes bored into him. Raoul shook his head again to clear it, “I need to get out of this throng.”

Erik looked relieved. “I can help with that.”

He strode ahead, heading for the stairs, seas of people parting before his impressive figure. Raoul followed hurriedly. Erik climbed to the second floor and led Raoul down one of the hallways that led to the boxes. He did something with one of the doors that Raoul couldn’t quite see and it swung open. He gestured for Raoul to enter first, then followed, shutting the door behind him. Raoul was greeted by dark, still, dusty air. He felt Erik move to stand behind him. Gradually as his eyes adjusted Raoul was able to make out the curvature of the theatre, the rows of seats, the stage, even the shadows of the chandelier.

“We’re in box five,” he stated.

“Yes.”

Raoul ran his hands over the ledge of the box. Erik watched him. “This was your private box,” Raoul said. “How did you get into it in the middle of each show?”

“The pillar.” Erik went over and rapped on one of the pillars. A secret door Raoul had never noticed swung open. “I’m not called the Trap-Door Lover for nothing.”

Raoul peeked into the pillar, then stepped inside. There was a ladder that would have allowed Erik to climb in and out of it. “Impressive. Did you build this?”

“One of the many little secrets I hid when I helped build the opera house,” Erik said, a little proudly. 

“Huh.” Raoul stroked his hands over the walls. “It’s perfect.”

Erik peeked his head into the pillar. “Yes, I suppose it was.” He stepped into the pillar behind Raoul, remembering. His cloak caught on the trapdoor and pulled it shut. Raoul blinked at the sudden darkness. 

“Erik…” he reproached.

“I know, I know, just let me turn around and I’ll open the door again.”

He felt Erik shift against him in the small space. The feather on Erik’s hat brushed Raoul’s nose and he sneezed, bonking his head against Erik’s shoulder. 

“Do you mind?”

“Sorry.”

Erik reached up to wipe the moisture off his face and accidentally poked Raoul in the nose. 

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

Erik managed to turn fully around and was feeling along the wall with his hands. 

“Can we hurry this up?”

“I’m sorry, I normally don’t do this with someone else in here with me.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Just shut up.”

Erik bent to inspect a portion of wall slightly lower down and accidentally rammed his butt into Raoul’s groin.

“Ow! Fuck! Shit! God!”

Raoul punched Erik’s butt with all the rage of someone who was just inflicted with a lot of pain. Erik yelped and spun on him. 

“Do you mind? I’m trying to get us out of here, not like you!”

“You just butted me in the groin!”

“Well I couldn’t very rightly see could I?”

“It hurt!”

“Of course it hurt, numbnut! That’s how pain works!”

“You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?”

“At least I’m not a whiny sop!”

“Says the man who spent his days mooning after Christine in a self-imposed isolation!”

“Alright, if you want to play it that way, funny boy-”

“What’re you going to do? Strangle me with your absurd hat?”

Erik shoved Raoul and Raoul kneed Erik in the nuts. Erik yelled in pain and Raoul pushed him backward, triggering the trapdoor. They tumbled out of the pillar. Erik’s head slammed into the floor, Raoul’s forehead connecting with his chin. 

“Ow, fuck,” cursed Raoul, rubbing his head. 

“Get off of me!” Erik shoved him off and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball. 

Raoul looked around. “Hey, we’re out!” he exclaimed. 

“I totally hate you.”

“Oh, the feeling’s mutual. Now get up.”

“Just leave me here to die.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re not going to die from a sore head and sore testicles.”

“It really hurt!”

“Baby.”

“Hey, I remember you screaming when I accidentally jammed my ass into you-”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “Get up, you baby.”

“No.”

Raoul reached under Erik’s arms and hauled him up, then dumped him in a chair. Erik’s eyes shone malevolently at him. Raoul leaned against the ledge across from him. He turned to face the dark auditorium. It was like a dream scape, everything made up of shadows and mists and dim light. Incorporeal. Erik stood slowly and leaned on his elbows beside Raoul. 

“It seems so… mystical like this,” Raoul said in wonder.

Erik’s eyes strayed to Raoul’s face, then back to the shadowy lines of the auditorium. “Yes.”

“It’s almost hard to tell if it’s real. It seems so… dreamlike.”

“I preferred things dreamlike,” Erik said. “It was easier to pretend the world was in my control.”

Raoul turned to look into Erik’s glowing eyes. “Wasn’t that disconcerting? If you did that for so long, how did you not lose sight of what was real?”

Keeping his eyes on Raoul, Erik stretched out his hand, pressing it to Raoul’s chest over his heart. Raoul’s pulse beat under his fingers, quickening. “Like this,” said Erik. “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Raoul sounded kind of confused. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I can-”

“Can you always trust your senses?” Erik’s voice came from behind Raoul, even though he had not moved. 

“I don’t-” Raoul shook his head. “You’re confusing me, Erik.”

Erik looked into Raoul’s blue eyes. They were almost a midnight blue in the darkness, and the faint light that came under the door shone in them like stars. 

“Exactly. It’s hard. But if something hurts, then it’s usually real. Pain, sadness, guilt, it all hurts. Happiness hurts. Love. Love hurts.” 

Raoul’s pulse beat against his hand and Erik curled his fingers into a ball.

“Do you understand?” he whispered with a note of desperation.

Raoul stared at him. His heart was beating uncomfortably against his ribs, and he used the feeling to anchor himself against the mists in his head, the feeling of Erik’s hand on his chest. He opened his mouth to agree, but instead what came out was, “Dance with me?”

Erik dropped his hand, confusion closing something in his eyes. “What?”

Raoul licked his lips but didn’t take back what he’d said. “Dance with me,” he repeated gruffly.

Erik looked around at the small dark box. “Here?”

“No, you fool. Out there, with everyone else.”

“Oh. Right.”

There was an awkward pause. Then Erik grabbed Raoul’s arm and hauled him back towards the light and the noise and the people and the masks and the hiding. “Fine. But I get to lead.”

Gustave wanted to have Gabrielle over for Valentine’s Day for a late breakfast. He assured his parents that Gabrielle’s parents weren’t coming. Raoul had met her parents, but Erik had not. The day before Valentine’s Day Gustave bought a bouquet of flowers to set on the dining room table to make it fancy. When he got up on Valentine’s Day he saw that someone had got there first. Someone had decorated a lot. A whole lot. The vase of flowers was on the table, flower petals fanning out from it pleasingly. The vase had a slim bow, and there were matching ribbons on the cutlery by the plates. The table had a tablecloth on it. It was red, and Gustave had only ever seen it used for Christmas. The usual dinner stains had been thoroughly washed out. The dining room wasn’t the only room decorated. There were small baskets of flowers in almost all the other rooms too, except for the kitchen and the bedrooms. There was even a tiny basket of flowers in the bathroom. Gustave was dazed by it; it was like walking into some weird fairy realm. The house also smelled nice, like french toast. Gustave followed the scent into the kitchen, where Erik was, in fact, making french toast. 

“Good morning, Gustave.”

“Have you seen the decorations? I just- what- hells-.”

Erik grinned and flipped a piece of toast. “Do you think Gabrielle will like it?”

“Do I? Probably, I mean- God, I love it!” Gustave’s mouth was still hanging open in amazement. “It’s like a fucking fairy tale!”

“Language, Gustave,” Erik reprimanded lightly. 

Gustave brushed it off. “You and Father swear all the time.”

Erik acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. As if called, they heard Raoul from the dining room say, “What the fuck happened to the house?”

Gustave raised his eyebrows and Erik rolled his eyes. 

“We’re in here, Father!” Gustave called.

Raoul entered, his mind trying to find the right words for his amazement. “Flowers! Flowers everywhere!”

“Yep!” Gustave smiled. “Isn’t it great?”

Raoul pointed at him and inquired, “Did you do this?”

“Nope!”

“What…?” Raoul looked back towards the dining room, unable to process that the house had magically sprouted flowers. 

“I decorated,” Erik said, then blushed under Raoul’s amazed stare. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Nice? It’s like hecking paradise!”

“What, this? This isn’t anything. If I had more flowers-”

“More flowers?” Raoul goggled at him. “Are you-- are you out of your mind? Erik, how many flowers is more flowers?”

Erik shrugged sheepishly. Raoul gazed back at the dining room again. “I remember Christine telling me you decked out your house in flowers, but by God, Erik! I never thought you actually put flowers everywhere!”

“It wasn’t everywhere, there was still air-”

“Still air? Most people settle for ‘still places to walk’-”

“Maybe I went a little overboard-”

“Maybe???”

“Okay, okay!” Erik held up his hands. “I went overboard! I am obsessed with flowers!” He smiled guiltily. “Do you… do you like it? The decorations I mean.”

Raoul stared at him and Erik hunched his head into his shoulders. Raoul took a deep breath and placed his hands on Erik’s shoulders. Erik's smile faltered accordingly. “I’m only going to tell you this once, so listen up,” said Raoul very seriously. Erik shrank down even further. “I was literally going to serve our guest on regular plates and not even going to set the table. This is- this is freaking spectacular, Erik, I love it!”

“You do?”

“Only one hundred percent, I do!”

Erik buried his face in his hands, laughing in relief. Raoul slapped Erik on the back, hard enough that he almost dropped the spatula. “But really,” Raoul sobered up. “You should be asking Gustave if he likes it. It’s his date.”

“I like it, I’m just jealous that Papa showed me up in decorating for my girlfriend.”

“Sorry Gustave. If you like I can take it down.”

“No shitting way.” 

“Language, Gustave,” Raoul said.

Gustave rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m fourteen. I’ve known swear words since I was six.”

He walked out of the kitchen towards the bathroom to get ready for his date. Erik was still smiling uncontrollably. 

“Someone looks happy,” Raoul teased.

“Shut up,” Erik’s reply had none of the usual malice. 

Raoul laughed. He went into the dining room and picked a flower from the vase, then headed back to the kitchen and popped it behind Erik’s ear. “There. Now you can look as pretty as your decorations.”

Erik shook his head at him. The flower, a yellow daffodil, bobbled but stayed put. Erik reached up to remove it. 

“No, no, no!” Raoul reached out to stop him. “Erik, leave it in! It matches your eyes! Besides, you love flowers!”

“You can’t even see my eyes.”

“But I have, and they’re spooky and yellow.”

Erik raised an eyebrow at him. “Wow. Perfect for Valentine’s Day.”

Raoul slumped back. “Just leave it in, Erik.”

Erik sighed. “Alright, fine. But you need one too.”

He grabbed a blue hyacinth from the vase and tucked it behind Raoul’s ear. It didn’t want to stay. Erik stuck out his tongue as he fiddled with Raoul’s hair to get the flower to stay. “There,” he said finally. 

Raoul could just make out the flower out of the corner of his eye. It was one of those flowers that was a bouquet in and of itself, a whole bunch of little stars attached to a central stalk. He tried to study himself in the stove top. “I can’t tell what it looks like,” he muttered.

“Go check in the bathroom.”

“I can’t, Gustave’s in there.”

“You look nice.” Erik leaned against the countertop to study Raoul. “Your hair’s a little messy, and it kind of sticks out by the flower. The flower doesn’t quite match your eyes, it’s a few shades darker, more like the height of the sky on a clear day whereas your eyes are more of mid-way-up sky blue. You’ve got bags under your eyes, and your shirt’s untucked, which I would fix if I were you.”

Raoul stared at him, surprised. “How do you know what the exact colour my eyes are?”

Erik stared back. There was a second of silence. Then Erik turned back to the french toast and said, “I don’t know. Educated guess.”

Raoul almost responded that it couldn’t be an educated guess. It was far too specific. Erik wasn’t someone who went out much, and as far as Raoul knew he never spent lengths of time studying the sky, so for him to know the exact colour meant that he must have been looking for it. Probably. But why? Out of curiosity? There were lots of other people with blue eyes, maybe Erik just liked studying people. That would make sense… wouldn’t it? The surprise flustered him and he stared at Erik, as if somehow he would be able to read the answer in the other man’s body language. Erik felt Raoul’s eyes on him and snapped, “Tuck in your shirt!”

Raoul tucked in his shirt. He felt like he needed to make it up to Erik somehow, but what he needed to make up and how he would make up for an unknown wrong were unclear. He cleared his throat and said stiffly, “You look nice too.”

Erik flipped a piece of french toast onto the stack. “Don’t push yourself, you’re under no obligation to be nice to me. I know I’m an ugly little bitch.”

This confused Raoul more, because now he felt like he needed to defend his claim. “No-o,” he stammered, “I mean it. The little- little daffodil- it looks nice against your pale… yellowish….skin…..”

Erik was staring blankly at him, and Raoul blushed. “Well you are pale,” he muttered.

“Do you always get yourself into conversational screw ups?”

Raoul took a deep breath. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself all the time,” he said defensively. 

Erik’s jaw clenched. “I’m not, I’m being truthful with myself.”

“Why do you hate yourself so much?”

Erik was gripping the spatula like he was trying to strangle it. The piece of french toast on the pan before him was smoking a little and Raoul didn’t know whether or not to intervene. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. After an infinitely tense moment, Erik flipped the piece of french toast. “Just be glad you’re pretty,” he said. 

Raoul felt pretty sure that Erik was passive aggressively trying to dismiss him. He certainly felt a desire to leave the room, but he also felt responsible for tangling the conversation and wanted to fix it. Even though pulling at some knots only made them worse. He opened his mouth to say ‘I’m not that pretty’ but realized it wouldn’t do anything. Putting himself down wouldn’t make Erik feel any better. So instead he did something completely embarrassing. He said, “I’m not pretty.” When Erik rolled his eyes he continued, “I’m fucking gorgeous.”

Erik looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. Raoul felt pretty sure whatever he was doing was failing, but he plowed on anyway. 

“In fact,” he rambled on, “I’m so goddam gorgeous because I’m secretly a fairy prince. And you,” he pointed dramatically at Erik, “are my-”

“Arch-nemesis?” asked Erik dryly. 

“Fairy princess.”

Erik’s brows creased in consternation as a blush flooded his cheeks. “What?”

“You’re my fairy princess,” Raoul plowed on, utterly embarrassed by every word that came out of his mouth. “You’ve been cursed by a witch to live alone in a tower in excessive ugliness-” 

“Oh my god,” Erik sank his head into his hands.

“And it’s up to me, or someone else, like another princess, to rid you of your curse by-” 

“Please don’t say kissing me.”

Raoul paused. That had been what he was about to say. “... Hugging you,” he amended. 

Erik looked up at him. “Do you have any idea how weird you are?”

His voice dropped out as Raoul crossed the room and hugged him. Yep, Raoul certainly was king of getting himself into tricky situations. 

“Raoul…?” Erik squeaked. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Raoul replied stiffly. 

Raoul still hadn’t released him, and Erik’s arms were hanging tensely by his sides. He lifted them gingerly, and had just laid his hands on Raoul’s back when Raoul pulled away. His eyes really were the blue of the sky on a cloudless day halfway between horizon and zenith. Raoul cleared his throat awkwardly. “Your flower’s falling out,” he said. 

“Oh,” said Erik. 

Raoul readjusted it for him. His fingers trailed along Erik’s ear, then pulled away sharply. Raoul’s jaw was set, and now it was Erik’s turn to feel like he’d done something wrong. Raoul turned to leave. In a split second of panic Erik called after him, “Don’t turn into a frog.”

Raoul looked back at him. “What?”

“A frog, it’s… you know, it happens to princes sometimes.”

“Only when they’re naughty or piss off a witch.” Raoul paused then added, “I’ll keep in mind not to make you mad.”

He left. Erik whispered after him, “You’re just going to ignore the part about being naughty?”

Erik had been called away to work for a week. It was a rare event. Raoul was a little excited to have Gustave all to himself for five days. Though he and Erik got along marginally well now, he had found their relations becoming a little tense, like they were dodging around each other. It would be good to have a few days without him. Erik left Raoul and Gustave with a lengthy list of chores that needed doing. The first day without Erik felt rather novel, and they kept laughing at the strangeness of not having Erik in the house, but became accustomed to it rather fast. Raoul enjoyed his time with Gustave. When Gustave was around he didn’t feel the lack of a presence, but after Gustave had gone to bed he did. It was like an amputated limb, or a cold shadow seen in the periphery that yields nothing but a sense of unease. The house was too... quiet. Usually Erik would do something musical in the evening, and without it Raoul went to sleep that night with an itch for it. The night didn’t feel as whole as it had. Raoul raised on the second day expecting Erik in the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. Gustave had school during the day, and Raoul had work, so it was easy to slip back into that routine, but when Raoul got home he noticed the difference again. 

“That’s a lot of pasta,” Gustave said, leaning around Raoul’s shoulder. 

Raoul looked down at the pot. It did look like more pasta than they could eat. “We’ll have leftovers for lunch,” he said. 

“Father, you got out an extra plate,” Gustave waved the plate at him. He was smiling quizzically. “It’s just us for the week, remember?”

“Yeah,” Raoul scrunched up his face. “Yeah. I wasn’t thinking. I’m used to cooking for three. I’ll remember tomorrow.”

The house was quieter without Erik in it. Gustave still practiced singing after dinner, accompanying himself with the piano, and it was almost the same. He tried to convince Raoul to sing too, and grudgingly Raoul agreed. Erik wasn’t there to make him feel bad at it. 

Raoul wandered around the empty living room before going to bed that night. He kept imagining strains of music, the softest, tiniest touches of melody. When he spun to look for them they disappeared. 

The third day was better. He had gotten used to Erik not being there and the prospect of spending another two days alone with Gustave felt invigorating.

Waking up on the fourth day it felt like Erik had been gone a long time. His voice had haunted Raoul’s dreams, singing something nearly intelligible but always out of reach. Though Raoul didn’t want his time with Gustave to end, he was beginning to feel antsy. This week without Erik hadn’t really turned out to be a week without Erik. While not physically there, he drifted up in Raoul’s thoughts enough to be more pervasive than usual. Raoul stayed up late reading that night and went to bed tired and frayed. 

“Are you ready to see your Papa again?” Raoul asked Gustave over breakfast on the last day. 

Gustave shrugged. “Yeah. I feel like I’ll need to get used to him being back in the house. I’m used to the house feeling emptier now.”

Raoul stayed up that evening waiting for Erik to come home, though he did this unconsciously. He had lit the fire to give off light to read by, but soon got bored of reading and walked around the room to the piano. Raoul had never really touched the piano before. He’d admired it, but he’d never tried to craft music from it like Erik and Gustave could. Tonight, however, he rolled back the lid and pressed on the ivory and ebony keys. He hummed a note and tried to find it on the piano. Under his breath he began to sing. With no one else to hear him he gained confidence, singing louder, letting the sound fill the room. He didn’t hear the key in the lock, or the door opening, but he heard it when a voice joined his own. That same captivating voice that had mesmerized him all those years ago, suddenly climbing up to ring beside his own. Raoul’s heart jumped. The voice sent a thrill down his spine, though whether it was fear or pleasure he didn’t know. He felt exposed, caressed by a sound that enveloped him down to his very core. The voice was gentle, guiding, resounding, coaxing Raoul’s own voice from his lungs. If Raoul had been thinking, been able to think, he would have lost his breath, but the voice secured him and he kept breathing mechanically. It was a heady sensation. Raoul heard Erik’s voice come closer, entering the room and halting behind him, just close enough that he could feel the slight movement of air from Erik’s breath. Erik’s voice was so close to him that it seemed to Raoul to make up everything. Everything and himself. He could hear his own voice, but it hardly seemed to belong to him anymore. He felt giddy, feverish. So this is what Christine had felt, Raoul marvelled. This was what it was to sing with angels. He didn’t want it to end. It would have to end. When the song finally did end Raoul was afraid to turn around, his heart pounding madly in his chest like a horse trying to break its tether. His breath came in deep heaves. Erik’s breath danced against his neck and he shivered with lingering exhilaration. 

“You’ve been hiding from me,” Erik murmured behind him, trailing a finger against Raoul’s wrist. His breath was rancid. “This voice. You could sing very well with some refining.”

“Erik, you breath stinks,” Raoul stepped away from him, turning to face him. Erik was standing hunched, his face nearer to Raoul than the rest of his body. He still had his mask on, and his clothes were rumpled. He gave a shift of the shoulders and yawned. 

“Haven’t slept.”

Raoul goggled at him. “It’s been five days!”

Erik shrugged again and slumped down on the couch. He pulled at his tie for a few too many seconds before fumbling with the knot to undo it. Raoul bent over him and removed his mask, setting it on the side table. Erik’s skin was clammy, an interesting sensation to feel. Raoul reminded himself to get a grip. Erik didn’t even protest. It was hard to make out his eyes, but Raoul was certain they had bags under them. Erik blinked at him, his eyes slits without the energy to open further. 

“Come on,” Raoul took his hand. Erik clasped it limply. Raoul tugged. “You should do your teeth and get to bed.”

Erik slumped forward and when Raoul released his arm slumped back again. He pulled at the buttons on his shirt with fumbling fingers. 

“Erik, you’re not even in your room!” Raoul protested. He felt flustered to see Erik trying to undress. Erik didn’t seem to have heard him. He’d gotten a few of the buttons undone and was staring down at the rest of them like he’d never seen them before. After a moment’s hesitation Raoul sat down beside him, turning Erik to face him with a gentle tug on his shoulders. He tugged Erik’s shirt out from his pants and unbuttoned it the rest of the way. Erik made no indication that he was aware his shirt was undone. His hollow chest inflated and deflated against the high waistline of his pants. Raoul reached out again, taking a hold of the collar of Erik’s shirt to try and slide it off his thin shoulders. Erik slumped forward until his head was resting against Raoul’s shoulder. His breathing was deep and rusty and it seemed to Raoul that he was already asleep. 

“Erik!” Raoul patted his face. “Erik, wake up!”

“Tmerow,” Erik mumbled. He wrapped his arms around Raoul’s neck and twisted his face to the side, snuggling into him like he was a pillow. 

“Erik, come on, you can’t sleep on me!” Raoul tried slapping at Erik’s face again but it did no good. Erik was already breathing softly again and at Raoul’s touch moaned and pressed his face further into Raoul’s neck. Erik’s lips were against his collarbone, his breath a warm spot, with a feeling that was not quite ticklish. Raoul flushed and sat there stiffly. Erik smelled bad too. Like someone had left old clothes in a musty closet. Acrid. Fusty. He had to get Erik off. Raoul tried to move, but Erik held onto him. He was surprisingly strong, even in sleep. Raoul shifted until he was lying down with Erik on top of him. He kicked Erik’s legs onto the couch. Erik dragged his arms from beneath Raoul’s head until his hands were by his face, framing it loosely. Raoul cupped Erik’s head and tried to shift it from his shoulder. Even though asleep, Erik’s fingers tightened on Raoul’s shirt, unwilling to let go. Raoul gave up. He closed his eyes, resting one arm beneath his head. His eyes were hot and he swiped at them, feeling suddenly desperately ashamed. He had been reduced to sleeping on the couch, and not just any couch but the couch with his worst enemy. But what bugged him most was not the humiliating facts. What bugged him most was, at the core of his being, a sense of peace. There was a comfort. A comfort in knowing that things were back to how they had been, a comfort in the fullness of his heart, a comfort in hearing Erik’s voice again, in having him lie there partly beside and partly on Raoul, a comfort in his gentle breathing, even in the way he smelled. Raoul let out a frustrated sigh and Erik shifted again, his hand cupping Raoul’s shirt like a child, one of his fingers brushing Raoul’s neck. Raoul ran his hand along Erik’s scalp. His skin was surprisingly soft despite the clamminess. Erik’s few hairs were long and Raoul toyed with them, running them between his fingers. He could feel Erik’s shoulder blades beneath his coarse shirt, his gentle heart beat, his breathing. There was comfort here, and it gradually lulled Raoul to sleep. 

Gustave got up first the next morning, entering the living room and stopping short. He stared. His dads were passed out together on the couch. Erik had his face on Raoul’s chest, flattened over him like a blanket. At least they both still had their clothes on. Gustave decided to let them be and wandered into the kitchen, vowing not to go into the living room again until one or both of them woke up. 

Raoul woke up first. He blinked and rubbed his eyes with the hand he’d been using to prop up his head. There was a weight on him, like an unusually heavy blanket. It was rather nice. Erik’s breath tickled his neck, waking Raoul’s mind to the fact that he did not, in fact, have a blanket. He had Erik lying on top of him. Raoul lay very still, his heart pounding. He wasn’t sure how they’d ended up like this. Erik’s head was on his chest, his face pressed into Raoul’s shirt. One of Erik’s hands was resting by Raoul’s collar, pulling the fabric slightly, while Erik’s other arm was wrapped beneath him. Erik had thrown one knee across him, the other leg tangling with Raoul’s where they dangled over the arm of the couch. Raoul had a hand on Erik’s back, slipped under the shirt he’d helped undo the night before. He could feel the sharp ridge of Erik’s spine, his ribs. Now this was awkward. Raoul craned his neck to look at Erik, trying to come up with the best way to move the other man without waking him up. In the morning sunlight he could make out the veins on the top of Erik’s head, the few dark hairs that sprouted there. He could just barely see Erik’s eyelashes before the angle of his head became too much and made him dizzy. Carefully, Raoul retracted his hand from under Erik’s shirt. He slid his legs out from under Erik first, then carefully pushed Erik’s head and hand off of him and slid to the floor. Erik kept sleeping and Raoul breathed a sigh of relief before heading to the kitchen for a drink of water. 

“Gustave!” he said, startled. 

“Have a good sleep?” Gustave asked innocently, trying to keep his face from betraying what he had seen.

Raoul glanced back out the kitchen and ran a hand through his hair. “I… I don’t know.”

Gustave nodded solemnly, and Raoul wondered if he had seen. “Gustave,” he started. “Did you… see Erik’s back?”

“I saw.”

“Ah.” Raoul tried to read his son’s neutral expression. “Look, I don’t know if you saw- us- on the couch-”

“It’s not my business,” Gustave said, looking at Raoul.

“Oh. Good. It’s not like anything- Your Papa was very tired and fell asleep on me.”

“Father you don’t have to explain it to me, I said I don’t care.”

Raoul flushed. “I just want to be sure that you don’t get any funny ideas.”

Gustave gave him an indignant expression. “Father.”

“Because nothing like that happened.”

Gustave buried his face in his hands. “You’re making this so much more awkward than it was.”

That shut Raoul up. He still wanted to make sure that Gustave was absolutely certain nothing had happened, but he realised his defensiveness wasn’t helping. Instead he drank a glass of water. 

“You might want to change your clothes, they’re all rumpled.”

Raoul nodded. On his way to his room he said, “Try not to wake your Papa. He hasn’t slept in five days.”

Christmas was being celebrated at Raoul’s sister Ola’s house. The plan was for Raoul and Gustave to stay over until New Year’s Day. Ola had not planned on Erik coming, but Erik had decided to come as he wanted to spend Christmas with his son. He’d just assumed he’d be allowed over. 

Ola’s house was bigger than Raoul’s. It was snowing when they arrived, small little flakes that dissolved in their breath. A maid ushered them inside quickly and they were greeted warmly, and then met with a little shock. Ola pulled Raoul aside to speak with him privately. 

“Why is he here?” she whispered, glancing over Raoul’s shoulder like she expected the masked figure to appear there. 

“He just wants to spend Christmas with Gustave,” Raoul consoled her. 

“I don’t have space for you all! And Henri’s family is coming over too! What am I supposed to tell them, Raoul? What?” Ola hissed at him fiercely. 

“He can sleep in the room with me.” Raoul put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “I know it’s not ideal, Ola, I’ll do my best to talk to him…” Raoul trailed off, not knowing if he actually would. Upsetting Erik was never fun. He swallowed down his apprehension. “I promise I’ll talk to him. Tell Henri’s family he’s my manservant or something.” 

“And the mask, Raoul? What do I tell them about the mask? It’s unsightly and unsettling. For you to hire someone like that makes no sense!”

A small tick began to play in Raoul’s cheek. “Tell them the truth, Ola! Tell them he’s got a deformity and that I don’t have enough money to hire anyone else!” 

Ola scowled at him. “Fine. I’ve set you up in the attic. Why don’t you go show him where he has to sleep.”

She flounced away. Raoul tried to rub the creases from his forehead. The house was pretty full, with Ola and Henri in one bedroom, Marie and Louis in another, the girls in a third, and the boys in a fourth. It was understandable that they were low on space, which was why, as the only widower, Raoul had been allotted the attic. Erik was lurking in an alcove and followed Raoul to the attic without a word. The attic was a single room. There was a small round window, a mattress on an iron frame, and a whole bunch of clutter. It was a decent room for one man, but for two would be a stretch. Raoul sat on the bed; the springs complained appropriately. Erik stood holding his bag and looking around the room. 

“Ola isn’t happy about you inviting yourself over,” Raoul glanced out the window at the falling snow. 

Erik’s jaw tightened beneath the mask. “I assumed I was part of the family.”

“Henri’s family is coming over tomorrow and you’ll have to pretend to be my manservant.”

“Of course, monsieur,” Erik’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Will I be sleeping with the other servants?”

“No.”

“Am I not to sleep then?”

“This is your room. And mine. I told Ola we’d share.”

Erik stared around the room for a long while. “There’s only one bed, Raoul. I don’t fancy sharing it.”

“Neither do I,” Raoul sighed and stood up. He crossed to a dresser hidden in the corner and pulled blankets from its drawers. “Here. Make a bed out of those.”

Erik eyed the blankets in his arms dubiously. “I think we should spar to see who gets the bed.”

“Just take them.”

Erik sighed but took the blankets and dumped them on the floor at the foot of the bed. He dusted off his hands. Raoul huffed. Erik set down his bag by the blankets. 

“Were you really able to fit enough clothes for a week in that little bag?”

“A week?”

“We’re staying until New Year’s.”

Erik oggled at him. “I thought this was a two night stay at most!”

“So you can leave after Christmas. Ola will be happy,” Raoul headed towards the stairs. 

Erik ground his teeth. “Glad to know I’m appreciated,” he muttered but made no further complaint. 

Erik did not like eating around people: it was impossible to eat in a mask. He ate his meals in alcoves or in the attic. As the night of Christmas Eve encroached the temperature became colder and colder. Snow wailed outside and by the time it was time to go to bed it was clear that this would be one of the coldest nights in the year. The thin walls of the attic seemed an unfitting barrier against the cruel cold beating itself against the sides of the house. Raoul and Erik emptied the chest of drawers of all its blankets and still both spent a good hour curled up and freezing, drifting unhappily in and out of sleep. 

“Erik?” Raoul hissed over the pouding wind. “Are you still awake?” 

The chattering of Erik’s teeth nearly drowned out his words. “No, Raoul, why would I be?”

Raoul shifted in bed to try and see Erik better and instantly regretted it as cold crept under his blankets. “Erik?”

“What?” Erik’s eyes appeared at the end of Raoul’s bed. “Let me at least feign sleep!”

“Are you cold?”

Erik’s eyes began to sink back down. “You are the pinnacle of intelligence, Raoul.”

“Are you cold?”

“It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey! Of course I’m cold!”

Raoul pulled the blankets tighter around his chin, glancing at the little flakes of ice piling up against the window. “Maybe we should share,” he whispered, rendered almost incoherent by his numb lips. 

There was no reply from the end of the bed for a long time and Raoul was unsure if Erik had heard what he’d said, or if he’d even said it out loud. Then he heard Erik shuffle and felt the weight of all of Erik’s blankets dumped on top of him. 

“Fine,” Erik chattered. “Move over.”

Raoul shifted as best he could under the imbolizing weight of blankets and felt Erik slide under the covers beside him, keeping as far to the edge of the bed as possible. Erik searched with his foot, trying to discover how much space he could take up, and bumped his foot into Raoul’s leg. 

“Shit!” Raoul shrieked. “Your foot is ice cold!”

Erik retracted it over to his sliver of bed. Raoul heard him shifting, trying to get comfortable. He could also hear Erik’s teeth, clattering against each other until the noise stopped. Erik had bit the edge of a blanket to keep his jaw from knocking around. They lay beside each other silently. 

“This won’t be the first time,” Raoul said. 

Erik’s eyes glanced at him. “That doesn’t count, it was barely anything,” he said defensively. 

“What?”

“It was necessary. You would have got hypothermia.”

“When-?”

“Hallowe’en a few years back. When were you…?”

“Oh.”

“Wasn’t that…?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But I expected it was you,” Raoul said. He remembered very little of that Hallowe’en after nearly falling asleep in the rain, only that he woke up naked. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Erik clarified defensively. “I didn’t. I swear on Christine’s grave.”

Raoul nodded. They were silent again. 

“When did you mean?” Erik asked, shifting again.

“The night you came home after not sleeping for a week.” 

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s because you slept through me getting up.”

Erik flushed in the darkness, which Raoul couldn’t see. The wind continued flaying the house, howling as it did so. Erik shifted again, his cold fingers brushing Raoul’s arm. Raoul startled. He shuffled a little closer to Erik. Erik threaded his other arm underneath Raoul, pulling Raoul to his chest. He held Raoul loosely, leaving an inch of space between them. 

“This is only for warmth,” Erik hissed in Raoul’s ear. “If I wasn’t so fucking cold this would be unthinkable.” 

Raoul nodded. He closed his eyes against the sight of the snow piling up against the window. Erik’s arms were clasped at his diaphragm and Raoul wrapped them in his own. Any source of warmth was good. Erik’s feet were still cold, but Raoul didn’t have the energy to move his legs. He could feel Erik’s breath against the back of his neck, could feel as Erik tried to slow it, and hear the chatter of his teeth. It took a while for his mind to start to drift and then a little longer for him to actually fall asleep. 

“Papa? Father?” Gustave’s voice woke them. “It’s nearly breakfast time.” 

Raoul rubbed at his eyes, groggy. The little window had been completely covered with snow and the faintest light that it let in was barely enough to light the room. The air was cold on his hands. “We’ll be right down Gustave. Give us a minute.”

“This room is really cold. I can see why you used all the blankets,” Gustave said as he left. 

Raoul hunched back down into the warm burrow, sighing. It would be very easy to fall back asleep. He couldn’t do that though, it would be incredibly impolite. He twisted in Erik’s arms until he was lying on his back. When he turned his head Erik’s face was right beside his. His eyes were slightly open. 

“Come on Erik,” Raoul batted at Erik’s cheek, “up and at ‘em.”

Erik flinched away. With an effort he tugged his arm from beneath Raoul. Raoul took a deep breath to mentally prepare himself and sat up, effectively piling the blankets off of their chests. The cold was immediate. 

“Fu-u-uck!” Erik shrieked, tugging the blankets back over himself quickly. He glared out from under his pile at Raoul like a little gremlin. 

“You need to get up, Erik.”

“They don’t want me for breakfast.”

“Erik, come on, it’s Christmas.”

Regretfully, Erik slid out from under the heap of blankets. He grabbed his clothes from his bag and ducked back under the pile of blankets to reemerge fully dressed. Raoul dressed as quickly as he could. They hurried downstairs, Erik having secured his mask. Erik sat at the breakfast table with everyone else but didn’t eat. Raoul could hear his stomach growling, but Erik just stared straight ahead like he wasn’t even aware of it. When everyone had moved on Erik took the remaining food and hid in one of the alcoves to eat. He observed gift giving from the back of the room. He’d give Gustave his gift later. Erik left the main room and wandered around until he found one of the maids and politely asked her where he could have a bath. She led him to the washroom and left him there. 

Gustave was having a good Christmas. He’d decided not to let the slightly strange looks that Henri’s family gave his family bother him. He’d gotten quite a few books, and was settling down in one of the large chairs to read one when the cheery atmosphere was abruptly shattered by a scream from the other end of the house. After a moment of shock, everyone bustled from the room, trying to find the source of the scream. It was difficult with all the rooms and since another scream wasn’t forthcoming. With the help of the maids they managed to find the room. A washroom. The door was closed and wouldn’t open, no matter how much wiggling of the door handle was done. 

“Who’s in there?” bellowed Henri at the door. “Are you hurt?”

There was no answer. Henri jiggled the doorknob. In frustration he turned to the crowd. 

“Do we even know someone’s in there?”

“We all heard the scream, Henri,” Ola appraised, her face white. “Of course someone’s in there.”

“Well, why don’t they answer?”

“They might be too hurt. Perhaps you can shove the door open?”

“Wait! No!” It dawned on Gustave who was missing. He threw himself between his uncle and the door. 

“Gustave,” his uncle furrowed his brow, “if someone’s hurt…”

“I don’t think any one’s hurt. Please, just let me handle this.” 

His uncles and aunts gave him doubtful stares. Gustave gulped. 

“You can trust Gustave,” his Father’s gruff voice said from the back of the crowd. “Come on, no point in us all standing around a hallway.” 

Begrudgingly, everyone followed Raoul back to the main room leaving Gustave alone in front of the door. He waited until their footsteps disappeared, then turned and whispered into the crack of the frame, “Papa?”

“Yes,” Erik’s voice came back stifled. 

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No.” 

“Can I come in?”

Gustave waited. He heard Erik shuffling around and then finally his voice: “Come in.”

Gustave opened the door very slowly. Erik was standing with his back to the sink and the mirror behind it. A towel lay fallen at the base of the mirror. There was water on the floor; Erik had no doubt just finished a bath. He’d dressed before letting Gustave in. Gustave crossed to him and gave him a hug. He didn’t ask what happened. 

What had happened was this: the towel had fallen off the mirror. As was his usual habit, Erik had covered the mirror when he first entered the bathroom. However as he had been bathing the towel had slipped. As he’d been getting out of the bath Erik had caught sight of his reflection, screamed, and fallen back into the bath. He’d lain there dazed for a second, then realizing he’d probably been heard had crawled out of the bath and to the door, which he promptly held closed and desperately prayed no one would try to shoulder it open. Thankfully, it had worked. 

The second night was as cold as the first. When Raoul and Erik finally got up to the attic it was very late. They were both exhausted, but the sudden slam of cold air made them awake and tired and it was not a pleasant mix. 

“I am so glad,” Erik said, changing as fast as possible, “that tomorrow night I can sleep in my own bed in a room with insulation. Or in front of the fireplace.” 

Raoul grunted, kicking his clothes to the side as he didn’t have the patience to fold them away properly. Erik burrowed under the blankets, pulling them all the way over his head. Raoul quickly followed. Erik hissed at him when he let the cold in. 

“We’re going to need air,” Raoul said. 

Reluctantly, Erik pulled the covers off his face. Raoul grabbed him and pulled him close, shivering. Erik tugged the blankets up around their ears. Their breath formed frosty clouds in the air.

“You should stay here,” Raoul mumbled. He pressed his nose to the base of Erik’s neck, trying to warm it. Erik shivered when Raoul’s breath touched his skin. Raoul squished his eyes shut, as if he could contain all the heat by pulling everything in closer and tighter. “That way I won’t have to warm this bed by myself.” 

Erik took a shuddering breath. He twisted a little in Raoul’s arms, trying to look at him, then twisted back. Raoul clasped his forearms around Erik’s sternum and held him still until they fell asleep. 

If the snow had been bad on Christmas, now it was impassable. Erik stared out the front door at the snow heaped knee high on the drive until he was yelled at to close the door. 

“I’m never going to find a carriage to take me home, am I?” he asked dejectedly. 

“Probably not,” Raoul agreed. 

“Well,” Erik stuck his hands on his hips. “Looks like you get your wish then, Raoul.”

“What?” Raoul flushed. 

“I stay and help you warm the bed.” Erik stalked past Raoul back towards the interior of the house. 

“I did- I did not phrase it like that!” Raoul spluttered. “And keep your voice down! If people hear you say that-!”

Erik turned back to him. “I’d watch your own volume, Raoul. And for your information you phrased it exactly like that.” 

Raoul clenched his jaw and looked away. His face was uncomfortably warm. Erik kept going, turning a corner and disappearing from sight. 

When Erik woke up, he didn’t remember where he was. All he knew was that he was constrained. There was something weighing him down, pinning his arms and legs. Erik looked around frantically. 

He was in the attic. Right. And The weight was blankets, all the blankets. Erik took a few calming breaths and rubbed at his eyes, or tried to. One of his arms was stuck, pinned at a ninety degree angle from his body. He moved his fingers and felt something light, fluffy. He toyed with it. There was a sound near his neck, and Raoul shifted against him, pulling his hair out of Erik’s fingers as he pressed his nose further into Erik’s neck. Right. He was sleeping with Raoul. Because of his proximity Erik couldn’t really tell how Raoul was sleeping. He shifted his hand under the covers until it bumped against Raoul’s own, held in a loose fist near his face. Raoul’s other hand was bunched in front of his shoulder and pressing into Erik’s side. That was all fine then. Erik began to toy with Raoul’s hair again. Raoul huffed into his collarbone. Erik paused, but when Raoul didn’t seem privy to any other signs of wakefulness ran Raoul’s hair through his fingers again. Raoul rolled off of him, pinning Erik’s arm beneath his head. 

“So,” he yawned, nearly knocking Erik’s chin as he stretched his arms over his head, “you’re awake I take it.”

“How observant.”

“Mm.” Raoul reached under his head and pulled Erik’s arm out from under it. At once it started tingling as increased feeling rushed back to Erik’s fingers. Raoul studied it like a strange specimen before dropping it onto his chest. “You seem awfully fascinated with my hair.”

Erik shrugged. 

“You kept touching it.” Raoul’s grin had an edge. With the sun creeping in the window behind him he looked like he had a halo: the strands fluffed up by sleep were turned luminous. There was a curl of hair squashed against his cheek, pressed there by sleep. Erik reached out with the hand not on Raoul’s chest and pulled the curl away. 

“You did it again,” Raoul said. 

“So?”

“What if I don’t want you touching my hair, Erik?”

Erik stared at him. Raoul laughed in exasperation and turned his face away. Erik was peevishly tempted to touch his hair again. Suddenly Raoul turned back to face him, Erik’s hand falling off his chest in the process. He ran a hand from Erik’s forehead down to the base of his skull, with a sensation that made Erik shiver. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed. 

“I was just showing you what it was like.” Raoul frowned. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

“That doesn’t give you an excuse.” 

Erik reached up and pulled Raoul’s hair. Raoul yelped. He grabbed Erik’s head in both hands in retaliation. 

“Go ahead, pull my hair. I don’t want it,” Erik snarled. 

Raoul glared at him, his hands on either side of Erik’s face, then pulled his hands away. “Scum.”

“Fool.”

“Ninny.”

“Pansy.”

Raoul pulled the pillow from underneath his head and hit Erik with it. “Tyrant.”

Erik pushed the pillow off and maneuvered against the blankets to try and pin Raoul down. He didn’t succeed, only managing to turn onto his stomach. 

“What are you trying to do?” Raoul taunted. “Fight me?”

Erik growled into his pillow. He hoisted himself onto his elbows so that he was leaning over Raoul. Raoul blew into his nose and Erik fell back, coughing with disgust. Erik reached up and grabbed Raoul’s hair again, making a fist around it. 

“What the fuck is your deal with my hair?” Raoul yelled, exasperated. 

“I’m envious, obviously!” Erik shouted back, his voice muffled by his pillow. He jostled Raoul’s head from side to side. 

“Let go, Erik!”

“Your beautiful, soft, golden, floofy hair!”

Raoul managed to pry Erik’s fingers from his head and scooted out of bed and out of Erik’s reach. “I don’t want to sleep with you any more!”

“Good! Me neither!” 

It was evening. Gustave had gone to bed. Raoul and Erik were sitting in the living room. 

“What is it like to be married?” asked Erik.

Raoul looked up from his book. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve imagined what it’s like many times, but I don’t know how it is in reality.”

Raoul looked sad for a second. “It’s kind of like this,” he said lamely. “Only with more kissing.”

“Oh,” Erik nodded slowly. “I thought you’d spend all day together.”

Raoul shrugged. “We did, for a little. But I had a job, and Christine had her performing, and Gustave had school.” He paused, then asked, “What did you think it would be like?”

“Singing,” Erik admitted. “We’d sing every day. All day.”

Raoul furrowed his brow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “No eating or sleeping?”

Erik shrugged. “I just wanted to sing with her. When I sang with her she was happy.”

Raoul sat back in his chair, staring at the fireplace. There was a long silence and then Raoul said quietly, “We used to dance, those first few years. In the evenings. We’d turn on the radio, just enough to be heard, and we’d dance to it.” 

His face crumpled and he sniffed. Erik watched him cry. Raoul blew his nose a final time and stared at the ceiling, then over to the little radio on the mantel. He watched it like he was trying to turn it on with telekinesis. Tentatively, Erik walked over to the radio and turned it on. He flipped through the channels until he found one with music. Raoul sniffed again, then stood up, wandering over to the radio to gaze at it. Erik held out his hands, a silent offer, and Raoul grasped them. Erik had never been the most accomplished dancer, it was one of the art forms he’d spent the least time practicing. He gingerly stuck out his foot like he was doing the cha-cha, alternating and tugging Raoul’s arms slightly side to side. Raoul relented and started moving as well. He started with his eyes closed, then gradually opened them, beginning to smile. He held up his arm and spun Erik under it, planting a hand on his waist and dipping him backwards. Erik clutched at Raoul’s shirt. 

“You’re no longer leading,” he said, still a little jittery from nearly falling over backwards. Raoul shrugged. Erik tried to waltz him around the room, but they kept stepping on each other’s feet. He threw Raoul out along his arm then spun him back in, clasping Raoul’s hands so that Raoul’s arms were crossed over his chest. He rocked Raoul side to side, his breath messing with Raoul’s hair. Raoul spun out of his grasp again and then spun Erik in so that their positions were reversed. 

“I think I know why you have trouble when I lead,” Raoul murmured into Erik’s ear. Erik’s heart beat nervously. “It’s because you are so tense.”

“I’m not tense,” Erik protested, to which Raoul laughed. 

“Your whole body’s tense.”

Erik rolled his eyes, nearly knocking Raoul’s head with his own and made an effort to relax. Raoul was gently swaying with him, making it a little easier. He leaned back, just a little, putting more of his weight on Raoul. 

After a moment Raoul asked, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Erik nodded. He felt safe enough. 

“How many times have you been held?”

“Like this?”

“Just… at all.”

Erik considered the question, looking down at his crossed arms. “I don’t know,” he whispered. 

Raoul didn’t respond. He rocked Erik a little longer, then Erik pulled away, turning to face Raoul. Raoul looked at him, and his expression was a little pitying, a sorrow not for oneself. The radio was still quietly playing. Erik approached Raoul again, sliding his hands onto Raoul’s shoulders. Raoul gripped his waist. They spun slowly. 

“Do you think it matters?” Erik whispered.

Raoul held his gaze. “No.” He paused, then added, “You just seem lonely is all.”

Erik sighed, letting his gaze drift away. “I didn’t have the best childhood.” 

Raoul nodded. Erik’s forehead pressed against his own and he heard Erik sigh. Erik’s hands were cold near his neck, but he felt no danger in the touch. 

“What are you thinking about?” Erik asked. His breath was warm against Raoul’s mouth. 

Raoul didn’t know. He wasn’t exactly thinking. He wasn’t exactly thinking about how Erik’s shirt was kind of coarse, or how Erik’s breath had a scent to it that was neither good nor bad, or how the slight shifts of Erik’s fingers felt, or how their foreheads were pressed together and if Erik had had a real nose their noses would have been touching. 

“Dreams,” he responded. “Fantasies.” 

“They’re different you know,” Erik hummed. “Dreams and fantasies.” When Raoul didn’t respond Erik continued, “Fantasies are more extravagant, farther fetched. Dreams are more innocent, more accomplishable.”

“So which are you?” Raoul murmured. He caressed Erik’s shirt between his fingers. Erik’s hand came to rest on his cheek. 

“Both,” Erik’s voice brushed Raoul’s face. “Neither.” 

He traced his thumb along Raoul’s cheek, gentle, almost awkward. Raoul bumped his nose forward; the end of Erik’s nose, which cut off where the bone ended, brushed against his own. Raoul felt Erik’s hand tighten just slightly on his shoulder, heard him inhale. There was so little space between them now, barely a breath. All the air he was breathing Erik was also breathing. Every breath was a song to the beat of the heart. Raoul let his head shift forward again. With his eyes closed the space seemed to take an infinity. His only bearing was brushing Erik’s nose again. He felt it, let it rest there. He heard Erik inhale again, just one slightly longer than the rest, and it pleased him. Erik’s hand was cold where it cupped his cheek, bony. There was a faint tremor in it, and Raoul pressed his own hand over Erik’s to still it. ‘I could kiss you,’ Raoul thought. ‘I could press my lips to yours and kiss you.’ He knew how Erik looked, how he smelled, the sound of his voice, the pain of his fists and shape of his fingers. Raoul wondered what he’d taste like. He foolishly wondered if Erik’s mastery of singing made him good at kissing. There was a nervousness in the wonder, an excitement, nearly a fear. Erik. It was Erik. Part of Raoul’s brain, the part that usually judged his decisions and judged himself, fought its way forward through the strange calm of the moment. This was Erik! Erik! A new fear, a fear at himself shot through Raoul. He tried to shake it off, furrowing his brow. 

Erik’s touch drifted from his cheek to his neck, effectively stilling both Raoul’s head and his thoughts. Erik’s thumb stroked Raoul’s jaw with slow, almost imperceptible movements. Raoul let his head tip back just slightly, up towards Erik’s face. His skin was alive, each breath was alive. Each breath seemed a moan of anticipation, the sound never leaving his throat. Raoul pressed his palms into Erik’s waist moving the pressure towards Erik’s back. He felt Erik shiver as he pulled him incrementally closer. Erik’s finger curled against the nape of his neck sending a thrill of pleasure down his spine. He craned his chin upward at the feeling, bumping it against Erik’s. That stilled them. Erik’s breaths were quick and shallow. Raoul could feel them on his lips, could almost feel the movement of Erik’s mouth. He could feel the warmth radiating from it, a warmth made his breath catch with yearning. He wanted- He needed-

“Raoul?” Erik asked quietly. It was barely even a sound; it was so quiet, each vowel shaped perfectly. It excited the nerves in Raoul’s brain to a fever pitch, shattering the calm of the moment before. What was he doing? What had he been thinking? Why had… why had he wanted it? Sweat spiked in Raoul’s palms and with it came complete awareness of where he was. He inhaled sharply, clenching his hands into fists as he pulled them away. Erik stepped back, his hands leaving the ghostly memory of a longing and nothing more. Raoul opened his eyes. The radio was playing voices talking about something indistinguishable. He crossed to the mantel and shut it off, leaving his hand on the radio to ground himself in the material world. When he turned around Erik had left the room. Raoul hadn’t even heard him leave. 

When Gustave grew up he looked mostly like his mother. He had her hair and her eyes, though the prominent cheekbones were his father’s. They looked better on Gustave, though. He was tall. He’d picked up Erik’s dry sense of humour, Raoul’s manners as well as his habit to tap his chin with a pencil when he was thinking and scratching his nose when he was bored. Both of his guardians saw themselves in him, and both of them were incredibly proud of him.

As the eve of Gustave leaving for university approached, Erik began to worry. The family spent a lot of time together and had a lot of fun, so he didn’t get to focus on his worries very much, but at night when the house was quiet they began to whisper in the back of his mind. One night, after Gustave had gone to bed, Erik decided to address them. 

“Raoul?” he asked, putting down his violin. “What will happen when Gustave is gone?”

Raoul looked up from his book. He was surprised by the earnestness, the vulnerability in Erik’s posture. “What do you mean?”

Erik fiddled with the tuning knobs of his violin. “I mean what will happen to us?”

“Us?”

“Me.”

Erik didn’t look at Raoul. He was afraid of what he might see in the other man’s face. “I understand if you want me to leave. I mean we were- are - were- are- rivals.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t?” Erik looked up. Now it was Raoul’s turn to look away. 

“Of course not. How would I keep myself entertained without you around? I’d have no one to bicker with,” he said gruffly. “Now let’s go to bed. Worrying about this is silly.”

He got up, bookmarking his place and tucking the book under his arm as he did so. Erik felt a tiny thrill, like a jump in his heart. “You mean it? I can stay?”

“Yes,” Raoul sounded slightly irritated. He looked up at Erik. He didn’t look irritated. He just looked … uncertain. “Yes of course you can stay.”

Erik broke into a smile. He strode across the room and hugged Raoul. Raoul tensed. Erik pulled back and held Raoul at arms length. “Thank you.”

Raoul stared at him awkwardly. In the dim light of nighttime his face looked slightly flushed. He licked his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, no problem.”

In that moment, Erik was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him. He would have too, if he wasn’t so startled by it. He quickly dropped Raoul’s arms and stepped back, cleared his throat and nodded in what he hoped was a ‘nice nice we’re very mature men’ sort of way. Raoul’s face registered a brief look of disappointment, which he quickly wiped away before Erik could see it. 

“... I’m going to bed,” said Raoul to the room at large. Then he left. 

Erik waited until his footsteps had receded down the hall before exhaling and rubbing his hands over his face. I’m just tired, he told himself, just tired. But he couldn’t quite believe it as he got ready for bed. He couldn’t quite forget that urge born of happiness and even love.

They spent a summer week out in Perros to celebrate Gustave going to university. It was a warm week and they spent a lot of time splashing around in the ocean. Even Erik, who still did not own a bathing suit. He waded up to his knees and wore his fake nose, which Raoul thought was a totally bizarre thing to own. There was an air of finality over everything, so they tried to have as much fun as possible. One evening Gustave started a splash fight, which ended with them all out of breath standing shoulder to shoulder looking out over the sunset. 

“Gustave,” said Raoul. “You have no idea how proud we are of you.”

Gustave smiled and leaned his head on his Father’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you guys too. You did a good job raising me.”

Erik’s brow wrinkled. “We could have been better.”

Gustave rolled his eyes. “That’s basically the moto of being human.”

Erik laughed and rubbed Gustave’s hair foundly. They leaned together like that for a while. Gustave sniffed. A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away. But then he was crying, which started his parents crying, and they were all crying in a big group hug. 

“I swear,” gulped Raoul, “I am going to be crying so much this week it is not even funny.”

Gustave hiccoughed, smiling. 

They would cry again, when they visited Christine’s grave. The writing on the gravestone was still clear, the only obscurity being the long grass and flowers that now grew all over the grave. Gustave laid a hand on the gravestone lovingly. 

“I wish you could see me, Mother,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I hope I’ve made you proud, wherever you are. I wish you could be here to celebrate with me, more than anything. It breaks my heart knowing that you won’t see me get a job, or get married, or start a family, or be there if I fail everything. It’s so hard. I miss you so, so much.” 

He knelt down among the flowers and lay his forehead on the gravestone. His sobs were loud and unapologetic and lonely. Erik knelt beside his son and put his arm around him. “Your mother would be so proud of you,” he whispered fiercely. “So proud. She would-” and then his voice cracked and he was crying too. Gustave gave Erik a bear hug, then walked over to Raoul and hugged him too. 

They walked back to the hotel by a scenic route, walking slowly and as a family unit. Gustave was worn out, and after dinner he went to bed and slept until morning. Erik and Raoul went to bed as well, but had a little more trouble getting to sleep, tossing and turning, until they finally dozed off. 

Erik woke up because it was hot. Stiflingly hot. He tried opening the window and throwing all the sheets off the bed and it was still too hot. The air was sticky and heavy. Finally he gave up, grabbing a fan he had packed he walked down to the sitting room area of the hotel that looked out over the ocean. Alone with his thoughts, he didn’t realize someone else had entered the room until he heard the creek of a floorboard and spun around. 

“It’s just me,” Raoul raised his hands. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s too hot.”

Raoul had gone a step further than Erik and had removed his nightshirt, so he was standing there in his underwear. Erik turned back to the water. He was too hot to be flustered. Raoul stood beside him. 

“Damn, the water looks nice,” Raoul muttered. “Too bad we can’t be there instead of here.”

Erik furrowed his brows. “Why can’t we?” he asked. 

Raoul turned to him, mouth open in an ‘o’. He waved a finger at Erik. “You’re right! Come on, there’s a tree outside my room we can climb down on.”

Erik followed Raoul through the stuffy hotel, through his room (where sheets were piled messily on the floor), out the window and down the tree. Raoul waited for Erik at the bottom. 

“I’ll race you.”

Then he was off, and Erik stumbled to catch up. The pebble beach was painful underfoot, causing Erik to slow, so by the time he’d reached the water Raoul had already taken off his underwear and dived into the water. 

“Really?” sighed Erik when Raoul surfaced. “Skinny dipping?”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen me nearly naked like a billion times, Erik. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

“More like twenty.”

“Who cares? Are you coming in or not?”

It took a second to decide, and it really wasn’t much of a choice. On the one hand, heat, on the other, water. Raoul had turned away and was now swimming lengths, so Erik removed his nightshirt and dove in. The water was cold and refreshing, startlingly so. 

“Haaah!” Erik gasped. 

“Nice, right?” Raoul grinned at him. His hair was plastered to his head, shining in the moonlight. 

Erik sat on his heels, waving his arms through the water. In the moonlight they looked like bones. Erik lifted his hands from the water, enjoying how it spilled through his fingers. He cupped more of it in his hands, swirling it around, then dropping it. Raoul splashed up from the water a few meters away. His back was to Erik, moonlight dripping down it and shining off his shoulders as he squeezed water out of his hair. It made him out of gold filigree and fine silks, adorned with shining stars and little flaws. Raoul looked up at the moon. With black water surrounding him and the black sky above him he seemed to be floating in an ethereal dreamscape. Erik felt something twist in his chest, like someone had shoved his heart into his esophagus, strangling both. The moonlight might have made Erik look like necromantically animated skeleton, but it made Raoul look like… he wasn’t sure. An angel, maybe. Erik tore his eyes away, clenching his fists tightly to bring his mind back to the sharp pain. The nails left crescent moons on his palms. Erik turned to face his shadow and swam back to shore. Raoul must have heard him because he asked, “You’re leaving already?”

Erik looked back at him. Raoul was still standing waist deep in the water. Erik clutched his nightshirt to his chest, trying to stuff it into the strange feeling there, and turned away. A feeling of an overflowing desperation, so full it felt hollow. A feeling of such sharp, stinging caring that it strangled any words to express it. “I am finished.”

He heard Raoul stride back to the shore and pull his clothes back on. Erik still held his nightshirt in his hands. 

“Hey,” he felt Raoul’s warm hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Erik brushed him off by pulling on his nightshirt. “Let’s go.”

He took a step but was prevented from taking any more by the gentle grab of Raoul’s hand on his wrist. 

“Erik,” Raoul took a step towards him, his hand sliding down Erik’s wrist into his palm. He sounded concerned, genuinely concerned, his voice soft and husky. Erik swallowed. He wanted to tell Raoul something, anything, but more than that he just wanted to fall into him, to feel Raoul hold him. He wanted Raoul to pull him close and soothe the feeling consuming his heart. Erik heard Raoul sigh, the slight air from his mouth brushing over Erik’s back. Erik turned to him. Raoul was still so pretty, the moonlight on his shoulders and on his nose and in his hair and in his eyes. He looked into Erik’s face and didn’t flinch. Erik didn’t know what to say, so he just looked down at their hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of Raoul’s hand, and shrugged. 

He knew now. He was in love with Raoul. 

“Let’s go back,” he whispered. 

“Erik…”

“Raoul, please, let’s go back.”

Raoul looked at him, then away, dropping Erik’s hand. “Okay.”

Now it was Erik’s turn to not want to go. He wanted to keep Raoul here, in the moonlight, where the world was only half real and the laws of reality could be bent and shaped on a whim. “I can’t believe he’ll be leaving,” he blurted, and it was true, but not the only thing preoccupying him. 

“I know.” Raoul smiled sadly. “He grew up so fast.”

There were tears in Raoul’s eyes and he wiped them away. Hesitantly, Erik reached out to Raoul and pulled him into a hug, holding him there for a moment. He let himself become filled with the overwhelming knowledge that Gustave was going to be moving away. Raoul inhaled and pulled away. 

“Thanks,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Raoul gave Erik a small, sad, smile, reached up and patted his face. His hand was warm, and Erik wished he would leave it there. But Raoul didn’t, and when he walked back to the hotel, Erik followed. Raoul let Erik climb the tree first. He followed Erik to the threshold of his room. Erik paused in the hallway, wringing his shirt in his hands. Raoul watched him, then looked down the hall, then back to him. He took a step back, preparing to close the door. 

“Raoul-” Erik sputtered, stopping him. 

“Yeah?” 

Erik looked at him, his shirt clenched tightly. He wanted to ask Raoul how he felt about him, Erik. He wanted to tell him that he still looked pretty, or that the moonlight made him ethereal, or that he’d appreciated swimming, or- or, or, or. “... Good night, Raoul,” he said at last.

“Good night.” And then Raoul closed the door. Erik sighed, approached the door quietly and kissed it, then went back to his room. 

It was the first night that Gustave was away at university, and Raoul and Erik were sitting on the couch watching a fire burn itself out in the grate. It was daunting, to be together without Gustave. At last Erik said, “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For making me part of your family. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I lost a bet.”

Erik jerked his chin in the way that Raoul now knew meant he was rolling his eyes. Raoul could read Erik’s body language better than anyone else that he knew of. Erik unfolded himself from the sofa and went over to grab another log for the fire. Raoul watched him. He sometimes just found himself doing that, watching Erik. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way Erik moved. He was surprisingly graceful for such an angular person, and his clothes constantly shifted on his skeletal frame as he moved, a reminder that underneath was a creature of flesh and bone, a human. It was strange, how what would have been an imposing figure was now a regular part of his life. A constant. 

“I lost the bet,” Raoul said. “So I should really thank you for letting me be part of your family.”

Erik picked out a log and tossed it into the fire. He stood there watching the fire burn. Raoul studied his thin silhouette. “It’s strange to think that once upon a time we couldn’t stand the sight of each other,” Erik said at last. 

Raoul snorted in agreement and stood up to join Erik. “We used to be such jealous bastards.”

Erik smiled. It accentuated the odd skeletal look of his face. Underlit as he was by fire Raoul could just make out the yellow of Erik’s eyes. Like hawk’s eyes, or the gold of a cat’s eyes. They contained slivers of gold and umber, barely noticed because most people were too scared of Erik to pay attention. He actually had long eyelashes, Raoul had noticed. Long, dark eyelashes that framed his eyes like stage curtains. Erik himself was unaware of this fact, as he tried to avoid mirrors. Erik ducked his head, grinning. “Do you remember when you tried to shoot me?”

“So that was you watching me sleep!”

“Of course it was me! What did you think I was, a cat?”

“No, I knew it was you,” Raoul replied. “My brother thought I was crazy.”

Erik grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

Raoul’s face tightened. His brother had drowned, been drowned by Erik. He didn’t like to think about it. “It was a long time ago,” Raoul admitted. Erik glanced at him, then away. Raoul sighed. “Why were you watching me anyway?”

“I was jealous.”

Raoul laughed. “So was I. I still don’t watch other men get ready for bed.”

“It was a long time ago,” Erik said pointedly, “and I don’t watch you get ready for bed anymore. Not if I can help it.”

“Even though we live in the same house.”

Erik leveled Raoul with a glare. “Is there something you want, Raoul?”

“No!”

“Okay then.”

They stood tersely side by side for a moment before relaxing. Erik hunched towards the fire. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “I know this will sound strange after what we just discussed, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I guess after living together so long-”

He paused. Raoul watched him. “...well, it’s been hard not to gain some appreciation and I guess some respect for all that you’ve done, what we’ve done. Which by no means means that I agree with all the assumptions people make-”

Raoul raised his eyebrows at Erik. Erik looked like he wanted Raoul to cut him off, but Raoul was actually a little confused as to where Erik was trying to get to. “And- oh, for god’s sake. I’m trying to say that I love you, Raoul. In my own way.”

Raoul inhaled sharply, surprised. Erik glanced at him, unsure, and Raoul swallowed, looking away. At last he took a deep breath and said, “From the way Christine described you, I thought you’d be more eloquent.”

Erik glared at him. Raoul watched the fire. At length Erik exploded, “Well, say something!”

“I’m not good with words.”

“It’s just us here.”

Raoul’s leveled a glare at Erik. Erik shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching playfully. Finally, nervously, Raoul admitted, “I care about you too, Erik. Though I’m loath to admit it.”

“There’s that charm.”

They both turned their gazes to the fire. The silence that followed was awkward and tense. Raoul heard Erik swallow hard. He himself felt agitated, jittery. He hadn’t been completely truthful: he wasn’t loath to admit he cared about Erik. He was just nervous, too frail to fully admit to what he felt, too afraid to be smacked down or ruin everything. His heart was beating painfully and his skin was prickling like it did from static electricity. He licked his lips to say something, then gave up and closed his mouth again. In this room, suddenly, without the presence of Gustave to distract them, both men felt entirely out of their depth. Raoul sighed and threw back his head. 

“Raoul-” Erik started, then stopped. He stuck his hands in his pockets, then took them out and clasped them, unclasped them. Raoul grabbed his hands, more in an effort to stop Erik fiddling than anything else. And now they were holding hands, and both of their hands were sweating but neither let go. Raoul could feel each of Erik’s fine bones under his fingers. There was a faint vibration in their hands, which stemmed from both of them. A vibration of nerves that coursed up each vein and down again. Erik caught Raoul with those piercing yellow eyes. 

“Raoul-” he started again. 

And that’s when Raoul leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was a kiss. A kiss that said all the things they couldn’t. It wasn’t lusting or yearning, it was just understanding. 

Erik’s mouth was warm; Raoul hadn’t been expecting that. His lips were rough, but in texture only for when he kissed Raoul back he was gentle, almost timid. Raoul hoped he wasn’t doing a terrible job of it, though Erik didn’t seem to mind.

Raoul pulled his mouth back and pressed his forehead against Erik’s. Erik’s fingers were still entwined in his own, and Erik gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“Raoul de Chagny,” he whispered. It was a statement. 

“Erik,” Raoul replied quietly, then, feeling unsatisfied by the abruptness of it added, “de Chagny.”

“Did you just call me ‘Erik de Chagny?”

“Erik de Chagny,” Raoul repeated, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. Erik exhaled a quick laugh. He was smiling the crooked, lopsided smile that Raoul had come to associate with Erik expressing when he was truly happy. “Erik.”

“Erik de Chagny is fine.” Erik raised Raoul’s hands and gently kissed his fingers. Raoul’s cheeks turned a little redder as his heart gave a little jump. There was a faint blush in Erik’s cheeks, making his usually pallid complexion more lively. Raoul nodded jerkilly. Erik smiled again, then ducked his head and blushed deeper. He licked his lips. 

“Raoul, can I...?” he trailed off. 

“Yes?” 

Erik licked his lips a second time. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.”

Erik took a breath then leaned forward, paused, and kissed Raoul quickly. It was a confirmation. They both stepped back. Erik shoved his hands in his pockets, and Raoul clasped his in front of him. There was still a silence, but now it was a silence full of understood unspoken things. Even though it was still awkward. 

The next morning Raoul lay in bed longer than usual. His heart, usually so stalwart, beat nervously. The night before. Had it been a fluke? Would he walk into the kitchen to find Erik ignoring him? What if it had been a dream? Oh god, if it had… Raoul self-consciously peeked under the covers. Nope, fine. He sighed, mustered up his courage, and got out of bed. When he wandered into the kitchen a little while later Erik was sitting at the table, passing a cup of coffee from hand to hand. He looked round, startled, when Raoul walked in then went back to staring at his cup. Raoul swallowed and made to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“It’s cold,” Erik said without turning around.

“Oh.” Raoul let the coffee slosh around in the pot before putting it back. There was an awkward pause. 

Erik’s chair scraped as he stood up. “Raoul-” he started, and Raoul turned around. Erik had put himself together nicely for so early in the morning, and Raoul realized jarringly that Erik was wearing his mask. Raoul felt the sudden urge to rip the ridiculous thing from Erik’s face, but he didn’t. Instead he just said, “Yes?”

“Last night-” Erik twisted his fingers together, so furiously that Raoul was afraid he’d break them. “Was it real?”

Raoul was caught off guard even though he’d been expecting a question of the sort. He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he mouthed and then tried again. “Yes.”

Raoul couldn’t tell what Erik was thinking. Erik shuddered at his pronouncement, then reached out nervously to take Raoul’s hand. He held it loosely, and his fingers were cold. Raoul gave them a little squeeze and he felt Erik tremble. 

“Say-” Erik whispered hoarsely, “If you love me-”

“I love you,” Raoul interrupted. Erik inhaled and it sounded almost like a sob. “And you,” Raoul pressed, “do you…?”

“Yes, yes, I love you. I love you,” gasped Erik. He almost sounded like he was laughing. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Take off your mask, Erik,” Raoul pleaded. Erik obliged with fumbling fingers. His nervousness as he looked at Raoul unmasked was childlike. Raoul let himself study Erik’s face, let himself take his time doing so. He couldn’t see Erik’s eyes, but he admired his straight brows, the sharp bones in his cheeks, the few stray hairs that wound down his neck. The thin lips, puckered into a thinner line. The lips he had kissed the night before, the thought of it sending a jump through Raoul’s abdomen. Erik’s forehead held a small crease of worry between his eyebrows and Raoul smoothed it out with his thumb. 

“You don’t have to hide your face from me,” Raoul said softly. On an impulse he added blushingly, “You don’t hide the face of a lover.”

Erik’s face registered nothing, and Raoul felt his stomach drop worrying his flirting had missed its mark. Then Erik took Raoul’s face in his hands and placed a swift kiss on his lips. 

Erik quickly retracted his hands. “Okay?” he asked, searching for the consent he’d forgotten to ask for earlier. 

“Okay,” Raoul acknowledged enthusiastically, feeling a lot more than okay. “Very okay.”

Erik smiled. “Good. I’ll make coffee.”

Subtle things changed after that. When Erik would enter a room Raoul would look up and flash him a brief smile. If Erik was cooking and Raoul wanted to see he’d gently touch Erik’s lower back as he looked over his shoulder. If Raoul was reading and had asked for a drink Erik would set it beside him and touch his shoulder to let him know it was there. Simple acts to let the other know they were there. 

Raoul was having a tough day at work. It was irritating. When it was finally time for lunch he had just about had it. Raoul stalked outside, determined to be as far away from his coworkers as possible. He found a shrub that was pretty tall and set his lunch kit on it, not in the mood for sitting down any more. As he pulled out the bits and pieces of his lunch a small piece of paper came fluttering out. Raoul caught it and turned it over. It was a note, a note from Erik. Raoul recognized his spidery handwriting. The note was short. It read: 

Beloved Raoul-

I hope your day has been treating you well. Drink water. If your coworkers are annoying you just imagine them in horrible situations- it’s what I sometimes do. Looking forward to seeing you in the evening.

Yours sincerely,  
Erik

Raoul smiled at the note and tucked it into his breast pocket. He resolved to try and leave Erik a note, though if he could manage to sneak it past Erik was something he wasn’t sure of. And so began a small game of notes. If Erik was leaving before Raoul was up he’d leave a note on Raoul’s bedside table, telling him where he was off to and when he’d expect to be back. Raoul would leave Erik notes in his violin or under the lid of the piano that said nothing of consequence but brought a smile to Erik’s face. They would both sneak notes into each other’s lunches. It became something to look forward to. Both Raoul and Erik (when he worked) would look forward to lunchtime because it promised a familiar note. 

They were sitting on the couch, like they normally did in the evenings. Erik pulled his knees to his chest and asked, “Why do you love me?”

Raoul sighed, upset that Erik had ruined a nice moment. “I don’t know.”

“Because you really shouldn’t. I’ve been terrible to you! I don’t deserve this.”

“I’m aware, alright?” said Raoul angrilly. “God, why did you have to ask that?”

Erik pulled his legs tighter towards him. Raoul rubbed his eyes. “Yes, I am absolutely mad at myself sometimes for caring for you. You’re a murderer, you’ve been my rival for god knows how long, you murdered my brother, I let you raise my kid-”

“Well, technically-”

“Oh, fuck you Erik.”

“Yes,” Erik mourned emphatically, “fuck me.”

Then he and Raoul realized what he’d just said. Erik turned a shade of magenta and Raoul burst out laughing. 

“I- fuck- you know I didn’t mean that!”

“Oh,” Raoul raised an eyebrow, “didn’t you?”

Erik glowered, “We’re not discussing this now.”

“Is there a better time to discuss this? A better place, perhaps?”

“Raoul, I swear-!”

Raoul batted away Erik’s accusatory finger, laughing. “This is why I like you, Erik,” he said. “You’re so easy to annoy.”

“That’s it? That’s why you like me? I’m easy to annoy?”

“Do you have any other traits of interest?”

Erik glowered even more, then despite his better instincts muttered, “None that you’d know of.”

“Oh hoh!” Raoul raised his eyebrows playfully. Erik tucked his chin into his chest to hide his smile. “Oh you’re a cheeky bastard!”

Erik sighed and stretched out his legs. “The cheekiest.”

Raoul smiled at him but said nothing and gradually the atmosphere became serious again. Eventually Raoul said, “I could ask you why you love me.”

“I don’t know, really. It’s hard to pin down an exact reason. It’s more like a bunch of tiny things that I can’t name exactly.”

Raoul nodded and shifted so that he was facing Erik. “Exactly. I don’t know why I love you Erik. And I’m pretty sure I’ll always be guilting myself over it, seeing as you so nicely put it, you’ve been terrible to me. But I wouldn’t be happy avoiding it either. Time just does weird things.”

Erik nodded. They sat together in silence for a while. Eventually Erik exhaled and said, “We should probably try and define this.”

“What, our relationship?”

“Yes.”

“You’re still stuck on what you said earlier, aren’t you?” Raoul asked with a smirk.

“No, but we should discuss our relationship anyway.”

Raoul was silent for a second. “Okay. I don’t want to have sex with you Erik.”

“Okay.”

“In the future… who knows.”

“I’m comfortable with that.”

“And how do you see our relationship?”

“Like…,” Erik floundered. “Like this, I suppose. Nice. Soft. I like kissing you, and maybe slowly we can… go further. But let’s just take it a day at a time.”

Raoul gave a curt nod. “Mm. Good. But now you need to make it up to me for ruining a good moment.”

“How do I do that?”

“How do you think?”

“You could literally just ask.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Erik shook his head, then leaned over and kissed Raoul quickly. “There.”

Raoul rolled his eyes and pulled Erik into a slightly uncomfortable hug. It was uncomfortable because Erik had to lean over in an awkward way to be hugged. Raoul hooked his chin over Erik’s shoulder. “Now we enjoy a moment,” he said.

“I’m uncomfortable.”

“Shh.”

Erik rolled his eyes but relaxed. It was a nice moment. 

Phillipe’s birthday, or the day that would have been his birthday if he was still alive, had always been hard for Raoul since Erik moved in, but this year it was harder. He felt twisted inside, pulled in two different directions by the same emotion and a responsibility to each. Erik didn’t know what day it was, so when Raoul came into the kitchen to get his breakfast looking gloomy he wrapped him in his arms. Raoul immediately pushed him away. Erik’s posture betrayed his shock. They stared at each other for a moment. 

“I can’t do this,” Raoul said at last. “I need a break.”

Erik pulled back his shoulders. “How long?” he asked. His voice was stoic. 

“Two days,” Raoul offered. He turned to grab a glass of water. 

Erik watched him. Raoul heard Erik sigh. “What changed, Raoul?” he asked softly. 

Raoul ground his teeth. “Phillipe.” 

“Ah.”

Erik left him. Raoul heard the door shut behind him. Raoul put down his glass and waited. After what seemed an appropriate amount of time he left the house to get drunk for the first time in a while. He stayed drunk for two days. 

Erik had forced him home. Raoul didn’t exactly remember it, but after two days he woke up in his own bed smelling like sweat and tears with a terrible headache. Though the house seemed empty when he moved through it, he was sure Erik was still there. The door to his room stayed closed: he was avoiding Raoul, trying to give him the space he needed. Raoul’s mood did not improve. He just became lonelier. He grew frustrated at Erik for hiding from him. He began to stay up later, trying to run into Erik. It didn’t work. Raoul nearly gave up, until after nearly two weeks of this he woke up in the middle of the night. He didn’t know why, but he was awake so he headed to the kitchen to find Erik. And Erik was there. They stared at each other. Erik looked exactly as Raoul remembered him, just a little more rumpled and pale. His heart jerked, he pushed it back down. 

“You can stop hiding,” Raoul grumbled at last. 

“Okay.”

Raoul turned and went back to his room. 

The next morning Erik was at the dining table. He acknowledged Raoul with a nod; Raoul scowled and ignored him. He was confused and he didn’t like it. He badly wanted things to go back to how they had been between them, yet he kept holding himself back. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t. Erik had killed Phillipe. Erik had killed him, and Raoul was tormenting himself with shame over the feelings he had for the other man. He hadn’t been raised to accept it. He shouldn’t be in love, not like this. The day was a slice of their life before, an awkward segment of time removed and fitted badly into a place where it shouldn’t be. They barely talked. As evening fell Erik played the piano and sang. It was the first time in over a fortnight that Raoul had heard music. It overwhelmed him. He laid a hand over the keys to stop Erik from continuing. Erik looked up at him and stood, shrinking the space between them to barely more than a foot. Raoul met his gaze with a glare, trying to burn him with his eyes, with all the hate he could muster. Erik didn’t say anything and Raoul looked away. 

“Raoul,” Erik breathed, “can I hold you?”

Raoul didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away. Slowly, Erik brought his arms up and around Raoul’s shoulders, pulling him close. It was the most terrible, awkward hug of their lives. Erik patted Raoul stiffly on the back and pulled away. Raoul remained tense. 

“I’m sorry for how I’ve hurt you,” Erik said. He studied Raoul’s face, but Raoul kept his gaze on the ground, not giving Erik the satisfaction of acknowledgment. 

“I want to kiss you, if you’d let me,” Erik queried. Once again Raoul didn’t move. Erik took a step forward and brought his mouth to Raoul’s. Raoul didn’t kiss him back. He was as responsive as a dead fish. He heard Erik sigh sadly and then leave the room. 

That was how it was for over a month. A semblance of normal. Sometimes Erik tried to plead with him, kneeling before Raoul and begging forgiveness. It didn’t make Raoul any happier. Sometimes Erik would kiss him, but as the days went by those times became few and far between. Raoul hated how much he missed them, forced himself to break away from Erik, push him away, an act of punishment for his traitorous heart. It turned Erik sullen too, and that just made Raoul feel worse, though he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Finally, one night, Erik decided to sing the Dies Iraes, the song he’d sung after drowning Phillipe. He sang it with a fury quite unlike anything Raoul had ever heard aloud, quite akin to the beatings of his own brain. 

“Shut up!” he roared. 

Erik stood from the piano bench so swiftly it toppled over. They were standing toe to toe.

“How dare you sing that!” Raoul hollered. 

Erik laughed, and it was a hollow sound. “I don’t owe you anything.”

A feeling of cold swept through Raoul. “You killed my brother.”

“I killed him ages ago!” Erik hissed through clenched teeth. “I have been begging for your forgiveness for a month now. A whole damn month! I don’t think I need to do anything to appease you.”

“You. Fucking. -”

“I’m tired of being used!” Erik screamed. “You’ve been ignoring me! You want me to act all normal and you play no part yourself! Are you trying to torment me?”

“Yes!” bellowed Raoul. Then quieter, he repeated, “Yes.”

Erik took a step away, like he’d just been slapped. His jaw tightened with resolve and he walked to the kitchen, grabbing the salt and pepper shakers before walking back and slamming them on the piano bench before Raoul. Raoul stared at them. 

“Salt is you brother, pepper is me,” Erik hollered. “Choose!”

Raoul looked at him askance, terrified. The last time Erik had pulled something like this he’d almost drowned. Raw edges and a whole lot of anger surged through Raoul’s nerves. “You insolent bastard!” he roared. 

Erik slammed his palm onto the bench, making the shakers jump. “CHOOSE!”

Raoul stared at him, heart pounding. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Erik seethed. He seemed half mad. 

“I said: no! That’s not fair! I can’t choose between you and my brother! I can’t leave someone behind like that!”

“Oh! Really? Because for a month you’ve been doing a pretty spectacular job-!”

“I’m not a coin, Erik! I’m not some two sided object that will land on one choice or the other! I can’t just decide to turn my feelings off and on like a tap!”

“Stop avoiding my question-”

“I will always love my brother!” Raoul shrieked. “Always! There is no choice in the world where I don’t, do you get it? I can’t just not love him because you ask me to!” 

Raoul realized he was crying. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, taking a shaky breath. Erik watched him, then tossed him the salt shaker. Raoul stared at it, then up at Erik’s retreating back. He swore and ran to grab the other man by the collar. Erik spun to face him, tears leaking down his face, patches of red showing in his cheeks. 

“You’ve made your choice, Chagny! Let me go!”

He tried to wrestle his shirt out of Raoul’s grasp, but Raoul held on, pulling Erik closer to stop him from fighting away. Erik had called him Chagny. It hurt, but it struck through Raoul’s confusion to his heart. He still didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew what he didn’t. 

“Erik,” he said, fighting to keep Erik close and not sustain a serious injury. “Erik.”

Erik glared at him, biting his lower lip with unnecessary ferocity. 

“Erik, your game is rigged. I can’t choose either option and be happy.” Erik opened his mouth to argue but Raoul cut across him. “I love both of you, you understand? I can’t be happy choosing my brother and losing you, but I can’t abandon his memory either. I want both.”

“You tried both,” Erik hissed venomously. “It didn’t work.”

Raoul sighed, turning away. “I was beating myself up. I told myself I was dishonoring my brother if I loved you. I could never be him, he was my mentor, he was always more mature and sure of himself and I wanted to be like him more than anything. I wanted him to respect me. I still do. But all I have of him is inside my head and it’s- and with society-”

“Mental self harm,” Erik interrupted softly. “Yeah.” 

Silence fell between them. Raoul was still holding the salt shaker, pressing it into Erik’s back. He wanted to drop it, but he didn’t want to move away. Erik’s hands were pinned to his chest, balled into fists like he wanted to avoid touching Raoul as much as possible. Raoul still felt scared, scared like a baby bird taking flight for the first time. Scared at the immensity of the world around him and the world inside him, worlds he would never fully have a map to or understand. Erik sniffed softly. 

“Erik?” Raoul whispered. 

Erik glanced at him. 

“I’m choosing you.”

Erik’s adam's-apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. He gave Raoul a jerky nod. Raoul wanted so badly to kiss him. He wasn’t sure if Erik could read it in his face. Gingerly, he wiped the tear trail on Erik’s cheek. The tear had already reached Erik’s chin but it was the easiest way Raoul could think of to touch him again. He took a deep breath, then brought Erik’s face closer and kissed him. He felt Erik relax in his arms, his hands flattening out against Raoul’s chest. It was a simple kiss, but Raoul kissed him like he was starving. God, he’d missed this. Maybe they could kiss more often now. Reluctantly, Raoul pulled away. Erik’s eyes were still closed, like a dreamer holding on to the last tendrils of sleep before waking up. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

Raoul licked his lips. He saw Erik’s eyes flit to them. “Will you say my name?” he spluttered, a little unsure of where the need came from just that he had it. 

“Raoul,” said Erik, wrapping his arms around him. His voice sent a little thrill of pleasure down Raoul’s spine. “Raoul de Chagny.”

Raoul exhaled in relief. He rested his forehead against Erik’s. Erik held him for a second longer, then let him go. 

Erik’s silhouette was coloured red and gold by the firelight. Standing as he was in front of it he seemed to Raoul to be swathed in soft silks. Raoul approached him, just loud enough to let Erik know he was there but not too loud so as to spoil the stillness. When he was a step behind Erik he wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him close, resting his head on Erik’s shoulder. Erik inhaled quickly, tensing, but then relaxed and leaned back into Raoul. They rocked slightly. Raoul loosened his arms so that his hands were placed on Erik’s stomach. He could feel Erik’s breathing, slow and deep. Erik covered Raoul’s hands with his own, holding him there, gently. There was something comforting, something grounding about being pressed against another body, another body beating with warm blood in a harmonic rhythm. Like their blood was pumping in a duet. Raoul pressed his nose into the indent at the base of Erik’s skull, letting his lips drift over the skin. Erik exhaled softly. Raoul kissed him again, then let his lips drift slowly downward, space by space, kiss by kiss, until he reached Erik’s collar. Erik turned in his arms so that Raoul’s hands were now on his back, trailing along his spine. He gently lifted his arms over Raoul’s shoulders so that they were now chest to chest, face to face. Erik rubbed his hands up Raoul’s neck into his hair, which he caressed gently between his fingers. Keeping one hand in Raoul’s hair he let the other one trail to Raoul’s chest. He pressed his palm flat. His longest finger trailed the hard edge of Raoul’s collarbone. He met Raoul’s eyes, yellow to blue. Their chests rose and fell in rhythm, together, press and release. Erik drew Raoul’s face up the slight distance to his own and kissed him, long and delicate. Their lips drifted apart, still tingling as if to hold on to the feeling, lover’s hands reaching towards each other even as they moved farther away. Erik tilted his chin, gazing at Raoul tenderly. He moved his hands back over Raoul’s shoulders so that they were clasped behind Raoul’s neck. Then he pressed a fleeting kiss to Raoul’s jaw. 

“I love you, Raoul,” he whispered into the barest space between their skin, his breath playing lightly against Raoul’s cheek. 

Raoul kissed the base of Erik’s neck in the divet formed between clavicle and scapula. “I love you too, Erik,” he murmured. 

Erik sighed and leaned their foreheads together. Raoul brought one hand up and brushed it along Erik’s eyelashes, then cupped Erik’s cheek and kissed him again. Erik exhaled, running his hands down Raoul’s chest around to his back and pulled Raoul even closer. Kissing Erik was different than kissing Christine had been, Raoul had noticed. For one thing, Erik’s lack of nose made kissing him easier. For another, he was a man, a very thin, hard man, with very little give to his body. And lastly… well he was Erik. Erik had a habit of sometimes humming when Raoul kissed him, or singing a melody under his breath. He was very vocal. Which Raoul didn’t mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

Erik pressed his hands into Raoul’s waist and then downwards, slowly, along the sides of Raoul’s thighs. His fingers brushed Raoul’s butt and Raoul took a deep breath. Erik paused, a silent question and Raoul nodded slightly. Erik pressed his hands as far down Raoul’s legs as he could reach without bending and then back up. He bent his knees, wrapped his arms under Raoul’s butt and hoisted him into the air and spun him around. For someone so thin he was surprisingly strong. He set Raoul down after one rotation, grinning. Raoul laughed and hoisted Erik up by his waist and spun him around in turn. He lost his balance and they toppled over, Raoul landing on his butt, Erik landing just over him. Erik laughed and pushed himself up, using Raoul’s thighs as purchase. Raoul kissed him. It was amazing how they could be so relaxed with each other, something that years ago would have been impossible. 

'My beautiful Erik' the note read. Erik held it in shaking hands. He was at work and had almost thrown away the note, because it was so much bigger than most notes that he and Raoul passed back and forth. He studied the oxymoron of the first line, then allowed that he could not wrap his head around it and read on.

'My beautiful Erik,  
Yes, Erik, I’m referring to you. I know you won’t agree, and at a time I wouldn’t have either, but times have changed and I wanted you to know all the things about you that make you beautiful. Because there are things.   
1\. Your voice. Even when I utterly despised you I still found your voice captivating. You have a breathtaking voice, Erik. It really is the voice of an angel. It’s sensuous, captivating, hypnotic… Hell, I could probably write a paragraph on it, but I will refrain.  
2\. Your eyes. You probably have never noticed, but your eyes are like the stone Tiger’s Eye. They’re yellow and gold and umber and god knows what other colour. I know because I’ve stared into them. You also have long eyelashes.   
The little indents where one bone starts and another ends. Like at the base of your neck, or your skull, or your wrist. You’ve got like a million of these little secret indents. I find them fascinating.  
3\. Your feet. I hate to be that person, but you’ve actually got nice feet. I know that they’re bony and knobby and look a little awkward, but that’s what I like about them. Maybe wear socks less, then I can admire your feet more.  
4\. I’m really going to hate being this person, but your ass. You’ve got a nice butt. Not like round nice, because you’re not a round person. It’s tight. Sometimes it is too pointy and painful when you sit on me.  
5\. When you blush. You blush from the temples to your shoulders, and you’re probably doing it right now because god forbid that I talk about your ass.  
6\. The way you move. It’s mesmerizing. In case you were wondering how I noticed all these strange little details.  
7\. Your fingernails. They’re really long and delicate. I don’t know, I like them.   
8\. Your lips. Fine, your lips are almost nonexistent, but I adore kissing them so there.  
9\. Your smile. Not your fake smiles, or evil grins, or whatever other variations of smiles that you have but your lopsided, accidental, truly happy smile. It’s cute.   
10\. Your waist. You’ve got such a slim waist. I love holding your waist. I like that you’ve got a little bit of stomach and it’s squishy and that I can rest my hands on your hip bones. I’ll shut up now.  
There you have it, Erik. A list of things about you that I find beautiful. Maybe hang on to it in case you ever forget and need a reminder. Which, if I know you, you might. Or you’ll be too embarrassed by this list to forget. One of the two.  
-RC'

Erik read the list through three times before pocketing it. He rubbed his neck. Raoul was right, he was blushing. For the first time he was almost glad he was wearing a mask so that no one would notice and ask him why. 

Raoul was in the kitchen. He had gotten home before Erik. He heard Erik open the door with a bang. 

“Raoul!” bellowed Erik, nearly tripping as he took off his shoes. 

“I’m in here!” Raoul called back.

Erik stormed through the door, eyes blazing. He slammed his mask onto the counter and beelined for Raoul. Raoul didn’t have time to react before Erik had pressed him back against the counter and was pinning him there. Then Erik kissed him, so forcefully that Raoul was bent over backwards almost parallel to the countertop. He kissed him until Raoul was intoxicated by it. He kissed him until they couldn’t breath anymore and the counter pressed into Raoul’s back was becoming incredibly painful. Then he pulled away. 

“You.. you…,” Erik pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You absolute… you absolute bastard! You…”

“Got my note then, I take it,” Raoul smiled, still a little disoriented. 

“You can’t just say those things! I’m not- not even- how? I just- Do you even know how incredible you are? How can you make a list about me?”

Raoul pulled the flabbergasted and still muttering Erik into a hug and gave him a noogie. “I care about you, you big sop. And I’m not going to write a list about myself. How conceited do you think I am?”

Erik gave him a befuddled look. “I… No, I didn’t mean, I just… I don’t…,” he trailed off, rubbing his hands over his head and meandering aimlessly around the kitchen. 

Raoul laughed and hooked a finger into Erik’s waistband, dragging him over to the countertop. “Help me cook,” he instructed. 

Erik obediently obliged, still obviously overwhelmed.

“If you really think I’m so great why don’t you make me a list?” teased Raoul.

Erik blushed a deep crimson. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he responded lamely.

There were some days that were worse than others, and this day was one of them. Erik wasn’t sure why, but on this particular day all the self-loathing and shame and unworthiness he’d tried to cover up over the years seemed to be looming over him, drowning him. He’d gotten dressed and then just suddenly realized that the whole point of getting dressed was just to hide his shameful hideousness. To put on a front to cover up something that would never go away. Erik hadn’t realized that he was loudly crying until he heard Raoul’s voice on the other side of the door. 

“Erik?” Raoul asked. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

Raoul paused outside the door, then, resolved, opened it. He saw Erik slumped by his bed in a little ball, hands clenching at his head as if he was trying to rip it away. There were pink scratches along his wrists, his scalp, and the back of his hands. 

“Erik. Erik.” Raoul approached him. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

He bent down and Erik sprang away. His face was paler than normal and red spots were standing out on his cheeks and he was trembling a little. 

“Erik,” said Raoul again. 

“Go away!” yelled Erik. “Go away! Why are you even in here? Do you think I want you here? Do you think I need you?”

His voice was thunderous, unhinged, but there was something deeper that made Raoul stand his ground. 

“I love you, Erik.”

“Why??” howled Erik. “Look at me! I’m a monster! I’m a demon! I’m a blight, a disease, something dirty and rotten and unlovable!”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Yes it is!”

Raoul held out his hands and took a step towards Erik, who now looked like he was trying to find something to strangle himself with. “Erik, I love you.”

“Why do you keep saying that? It’s not even my name, not my real name, I don’t have a real name I never got one I don’t deserve one because I was never human enough-”

“You’re Erik to me, and you’re human plenty. I love you. You’re a human, Erik.”

“No I’m not, look at me!” Erik shrieked. “Look at me!”

“I’ve seen you before Erik.”

“No you haven’t!” Each word seemed to be tearing his throat out. Mindlessly, relentlessly, hands shaking, Erik tore at his clothes, removing them piece by piece. “Look at me! Look at me!”

Without clothes Erik looked even more like a skeleton. He was bony and virtually hairless except for a small patch of dark pubic hair. His muscles clung tightly to his frame giving him an overall look of a coiled spring. Raoul looked at him. “I see you Erik.”

Erik looked up at him with teary eyes. Holding Erik’s gaze Raoul slowly and deliberately removed his own clothes. Erik watched him, dumbfounded. 

“Can you see me, Erik?” Raoul asked softly. Erik nodded gingerly. “Good. I want you to tell me one thing about my physical appearance you don’t like.”

Erik made a gargling choking noise. 

“Do it, Erik. You won’t offend me.”

Erik gulped, his eyes whizzing over Raoul’s body then back to his face. “You’re chest,” he whispered. 

“Good. Why?”

“The … the hair looks weird and … and your nipples seem too far apart…” Erik trailed off.

Raoul nodded at him encouragingly. “Okay. Now I want you to tell me something you like about my chest?”

Erik looked up at him, confused. Raoul raised his eyebrows. Erik studied his chest, his own heaving up and down with his still irregular breaths. “It’s comforting when you hug me,” he said at last. 

Raoul smiled at him. Erik hesitatingly smiled back. Raoul took a deep breath and took a step towards him. “Now I want you to tell me something you hate about yourself.”

Erik’s face fell back into wild despair. “Everything,” he whispered hoarsely. 

“Be more specific.”

“My face.”

“What about it?”

“I have a cavity where my nose should be-”

He took a deep breath to continue and Raoul cut him off. “What do you like about your nose?”

“What?”

“What do you like about your nose?”

Erik was shaking his head involuntarily. Raoul grabbed his cheeks. “Erik, tell me something you like about your nose.”

“I don’t!”

“Anything. Think Erik.” Raoul rubbed his thumbs in small circles over Erik’s cheeks. Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“First thing that comes into your mind,” said Raoul.

“I don’t see it when I look down my face at what I’m reading.”

Raoul laughed. “What else?”

“It’s easy to blow?”

“Good!” Raoul smiled at him. Erik visibly relaxed. Raoul kissed him quickly on his nose. “Now how about we get dressed?”

Erik blushed. It was the first time Raoul had ever seen him blush without a shirt on, and Raoul found it satisfying to watch his cheeks, neck and shoulders all turn a delicate pink. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Raoul poked Erik in the chest. “I don’t mind you without your clothes on, I just feel like we’d both be a little more comfortable dressed.”

They pulled their underwear and pants back on. Erik dressed quicker and so helped Raoul button his shirt back up. There were still tears matting his eyelashes together. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have freaked out at you.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, or ashamed. I’m glad I could support you. If you ever need to freak out again, I’m willing to listen. And you know I can fight you if you need me too.”

Erik let out a soft ‘ha!’. Raoul tipped his chin up to look into his eyes. “I love you, Erik.”

“I love you too.”

“Kiss me.”

Erik kissed him, letting his fingers slide between the buttons of Raoul’s shirt to trace his skin. 

“Okay?” asked Raoul.

“Okay.”

“Still feeling like a piece of shit?”

“Always.”

Raoul looked up at him sadly. “You’re not a piece of shit, Erik.”

“Yes I am.”

“You’re my piece of shit.”

Erik hiccoughed. “What’s the difference?”

“That came out differently than I meant it to.”

Erik leaned his forehead against Raoul’s and felt Raoul take hold of his hand. They headed to the kitchen together. Erik started making some eggs when he felt Raoul wrap his arms around his middle. Something wet landed on his shoulder, and he realized Raoul was crying. 

“Raoul…?”

Raoul sighed and hooked his chin over Erik’s shoulder. When he spoke his voice was cracky, “I don’t want you to always feel like an outcast.”

Erik was silent. He couldn’t exactly tell Raoul he didn’t, because that was a lie.

“I want you to know that you’re worth it, Erik. That you are lovable, and sweet, and talented…”

Raoul sniffed. Erik felt his own eyes tingle with tears again. Raoul sighed against his back. “I’m going to show you that you’re lovable.”

Erik felt a spike of energy course up his stomach. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to spend all of today showering you with so much love that it will fill in that black hole inside you.”

Erik laughed. “That is not what I thought you meant.”

Raoul chuckled. “Oh, well, that too.”

Erik flushed. Raoul squeezed him. “I’m kidding, you fool.”

“Oh, good,” sighed Erik.

Raoul held him until the eggs were done. Then he held Erik’s hand all through breakfast. Erik found it sweet, but also a little overwhelming. They went for a walk after breakfast. Raoul made Erik run after him into a clump of tall bushes to hide away so that he could remove his mask and kiss him. It was hard for Erik to accept all the love Raoul was throwing at him, because he didn’t believe he deserved it. It got easier when he allowed that maybe, just maybe, he could be the recipient for it. Maybe he did deserve this. Maybe he wasn’t perfect but it was still good enough. 

They got home after lunch time and Raoul started preparing dinner. Erik situated himself on the counter to watch Raoul cook. From time to time Raoul fed him a piece of something he was cooking or would give him a kiss. They talked and laughed and reminisced about raising Gustave and other things. Dinner was relaxed. They fed each other in a playful way. After dinner, when Raoul would normally read and Erik would normally play some music Raoul grabbed Erik’s hand and danced with him. Raoul sang snippets of songs and Erik harmonized with him. They were relaxed and easy and even though it was silly they had fun. When it was time for bed they did their teeth. Erik headed to his room and Raoul followed him, which surprised Erik. 

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping with you.”

“But I thought you said you weren’t-”

“And I’m not,” Raoul kissed Erik’s neck. “I’m just sleeping with you.”

Erik sighed, shaking his head, but inside he felt excited and warm. “I guess you’ve already seen me naked.”

Raoul shrugged at him, smiling. “Guess I have.”

Erik pulled on his nightshirt and got into bed. Raoul crawled in beside him and turned off the light. They lay beside each other in the darkness. Their breaths seemed very loud in the silence. 

“Okay?” asked Raoul nervously.

“Okay,” whispered Erik, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Raoul squeezed back. Raoul turned over to face him. Erik’s eyes glowed at him in the dark. Raoul kissed him gently. Erik curled his arms around Raoul’s back, pulling him to his chest. His fingers skittered over Raoul’s back, not used to the feel of Raoul’s skin. Erik pressed his forehead to Raoul’s, their breath warming the air between them. Raoul placed his hands on Erik’s chest, gently rubbing them up and down. They kissed again, delicately, and gradually, pressed together, fell asleep. 

The next morning was completely different. Erik woke up feeling content and warm and happy. When he opened his eyes Raoul was still in front of him, eyes closed, breathing slowly. He watched Raoul sleep. Raoul’s eyelashes were slightly darker than his hair. There was a small patch of grey at his temple. Raoul’s nose wrinkled and he squinted at Erik. 

“Hi,” whispered Erik.

Raoul smiled sleepily at him, “Hi. How do you feel?”

Erik smiled at him and ruffled Raoul’s hair fondly. “Wonderful.”

Gustave’s wedding was a marvelous affair. Erik composed all the music for it. Gustave’s wife was a petite woman named Violet. She had a rotund face and the warmest smile that dimpled her cheeks. She was two years older than Gustave. Gustave couldn’t have been happier. Both Raoul and Erik liked Violet. She was funny and kind and smart and Gustave loved her dearly. Raoul and Erik were both moved to tears at the wedding. Erik was wearing a mask so as not to horrify everyone. Once the ceremony was finished, Raoul and Erik remained in their seats while the party went to the ballroom and the eating area. 

Erik fanned at his face with his hands, trying in vain to dry his tears. “God, this is the happiest day of my life.”

“He’s all grown up now, he’s so grown up!” Raoul choked. 

Erik nodded sagely. “We did our job well.”

Raoul sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for neglecting him those first ten years. I was a pretty bad husband and father. I hope I got better.”

Erik patted him on the back, “You got much better. I thought you were a great husband and father.”

“We’re not married, Erik.”

“Right,” Erik tapped his finger to his chin. “What could have made me forget that?”

Raoul snorted and pulled him up. “Come on, I want to give the couple my best wishes.”

“You’re missing something.”

“What’s that?”

Erik pulled a flower from the air and tucked it into Raoul’s buttonhole. 

“Has that been in your sleeve the whole time?”

“My sleeve?” Erik made an exaggerated show of checking his sleeve. “No. But you’ve got something behind your ear.” 

He pulled a flower from behind Raoul’s ear and cocked his head. Raoul could tell he was raising his eyebrows. 

“Very nice,” complemented Raoul.

“Thank you,” Erik gave a bow. “The art of legerdemain. One of my many skills.”

They went inside. 

Raoul had found Gustave surrounded by a crowd of people, but Gustave excused himself to talk to his father. Raoul tried to compose himself but couldn’t and hugged Gustave. He held Gustave at arm’s length. 

“Gustave, I am so proud of you. I know your mother would be too.”

Gustave ducked his head, beaming. “Thanks Father.”

Raoul took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you and your mother when you were young. I ignored you, and I shouldn’t have.”

“I forgive you,” said Gustave earnestly. “You’ve done great.”

“And you’ll do so much better.”

Gustave blushed. “We’re only just married, Father. That’s a little too early to think about having kids.”

Raoul scrunched up his face. “Is it?”

“Maybe not for you,” Gustave grinned. He searched the room for his wife. Then he blushed and quietly admitted, “Though I wouldn’t mind having kids eventually.”

Raoul grinned and thumped him on the back. 

Later, Gustave talked to Erik. Erik told him how proud he was too. 

“My only regret is that you’re related to a murderer,” he said. 

“Papa, did you really have to bring that up?” Gustave pinched his nose. He sighed. “Look, I’ve never known you to kill anyone, so how about we just push it under the rug and pretend it was someone else?”

“In a way it was. Those times seem like a previous life.”

“Good.” Gustave grinned at him. “Now, are you going to give me the ‘when are you having kids’ speech too?”

Erik blanched. “Oh. Right. That. Uh.”

Gustave put a hand on his father’s arm. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: if one of my kids looks like you I’m going to treat them right.”

Erik sighed. “Yes. Good.”

“But despite that, I was hoping… well…,” he paused then took a deep breath. “I was hoping you’d consider being yourself around them. Not wearing the mask. If they get used to your face when they’re young I think it would be a lot easier than suddenly showing them when they’re older.”

He studied the face under the mask to gauge it’s reaction. Erik felt initially a little nervous, but then a little excited. “Yes,” he told his son.

Gustave let out a relieved breath. “Oh good. I’ve mentioned this to Violet and she agrees with me.”

They stood in silence for a moment. “So how are things between you and Father?” Gustave asked. “You seem to be getting along well. I’m glad.”

Erik flushed slightly and avoided looking for Raoul, instead gazing intently at Gustave. Gustave gazed back. A slight smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. 

“Maybe you’ll tell me how it works one day.”

“How what works?” said Erik, guarded.

“Oh you know,” Gustave shrugged, raising his eyebrows. Then he mouthed ‘sex’. 

“No,” stated Erik. “That’s not what this is.”

Gustave smiled back irritatingly. He looked around for his father. “Has he noticed?”

Erik sighed. “No.”

It was later in the evening that Raoul realized he was wearing a ring, which was strange because he hadn’t remembered wearing a ring. It was a plain thin gold band. He pulled it off to see if the inside held any clue to how it got on his finger. It didn’t. He slipped it back on, forehead furrowed then went to seek out Erik. Erik was standing outside, enjoying the night air and getting away from the crowds inside. Raoul went and stood beside him. 

“I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

Raoul pulled off the ring and held it under Erik’s nose. “Is this yours?”

Erik took it and examined it, then pocketed it. “Must be.”

“No, hey, you can’t just take it if it’s not!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s mine!”

“Okay then,” Erik rooted around in his pocket and pulled his hand out. He held the palm out to Raoul. “Huh. It’s empty.”

“It’s still in your pocket Erik.” Raoul reached over and Erik grabbed his wrist. 

“No it’s not, you can trust me on this.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Because it’s on your finger.”

“What?” Raoul looked at his hand. Sure enough, the ring was back where it had been. He pulled it off. It was solid. He put it back on. “Alright, count me duly impressed.”

Erik spiraled his wrist through the air and inclined his head slightly. “Legerdemain, my dear.”

Raoul shook his head at him, but couldn’t help smiling. “So is this ring for me to keep, or…?”

“Or?”

“Or do you want it back?”

“Do I want it back.” Erik stroked his chin. “Hm. Do I want a ring that is obviously made to fit your finger. Hmmm.”

“Wait you got this made?”

“Well it certainly didn’t just spring into existence.”

Raoul gulped. “But why?” he asked. His chest and throat felt like they were being squeezed with static electricity. Erik’s glowing eyes stared back at him, but he didn’t answer. Raoul rubbed his hand over his scalp. “You’re not… you’re not proposing to me, are you?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether it’s working.”

Raoul laughed and it turned into a sob. “Erik, you know that we could never be married.”

“I know.”

“And this- this is Gustave’s wedding day-”

“I know.”

“And what if we’re bad at - what if we’re not compatible?”

Erik let out a small laugh. “Raoul, we’ve been living together for over ten years. Don’t you think that we’d have figured that out by now?”

“Yes, but-”

“I just wanted to give you a ring, Raoul. That’s all.” Erik took Raoul’s hands in his own. He met Raoul’s gaze timidly. Raoul shook his head at him, pulling his hands away and removing the ring. Erik’s jaw tightened. The gold ring glittered in the moonlight as Raoul thrust it back at Erik. Erik made no move to take it. Raoul jiggled it at him. Sighing, Erik reached out and took the ring. He pulled at it, but Raoul didn’t let it go.

“Raoul, what are you doing?” Erik’s voice was terse and hurt.

“I’m giving you a stand-in ring.” 

“A stand-in ring.”

“Until I can get you one that fits.”

Erik looked at him, confused. 

“I’m proposing to you, idiot.”

“You are?” Erik’s heart leapt. “You’re incredibly bad at it,” he scolded.

“Well, I’m only proposing in a way.”

“Raoul, stop making this painful for me. It’s like taking candy from a baby.”

Raoul laughed, then slid the ring onto Erik’s finger. It was too big. He looked into Erik’s eyes. “Live with me. Like we’ve been doing. Like we will.”

Erik inhaled deeply through his nose, tipping his head back. “God, I hate you sometimes,” he whispered. His voice cracked. Raoul tried not to let his smile falter. “You’re just so- you’re just so fucking gorgeous and you always find the way to hit me exactly where it hurts. I have no defences against you.”

Raoul gave him a sheepish smile. Erik’s eyes burned into him. “I love you, so much,” he whispered fiercely. “So much. I don’t know how it’s even possible to love someone like this. I never thought I’d love someone again, but I do and it’s you and it’s so good that sometimes I feel like I’ll explode from it.”

“Please don’t.”

“I was being metaphorical.”

Raoul could feel his heart beating painfully. Vulnerable, he asked, “...So?”

“Of course I’m going to keep living with you, Raoul,” Erik rasped. Raoul sighed, relieved. Erik took off the ring and pushed it back at him. “But you have to keep the ring. It’s yours after all.”

Raoul slid the ring back onto his finger. He felt very happy, and it made him suddenly shy. Erik shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet. “Oh, forget it,” Erik muttered. Erik allowed himself to scoop Raoul up and spun him in a circle. When he put him down again Raoul clung to his jacket, dizzy. Erik was grinning and Raoul was grinning. 

“Kiss me,” Raoul instructed once his head had stopped spinning. Erik looked around to make sure no one was watching them (which no one was) and took off his mask then kissed Raoul’s smiling lips. 

“Shall we go back inside?” asked Raoul.

“Yes,” Erik replied. “Let’s celebrate Gustave and Violet. We can celebrate this when we get home.”


End file.
